


When the Chaos Calls Me Out

by Melusine0811



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, F/F, Femslash, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Lesbian Relationship, Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler (past), Mutual Pining, Pete's World (Doctor Who), Slash, Soulmates, Telepathic Bond, Telepathic Sex, bondmates, vanilla smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24007936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melusine0811/pseuds/Melusine0811
Summary: *Chapter 10 posted 15 February 2021*The Doctor never forgot her. There was never a day that Rose Tyler didn’t cross her mind, even centuries later. When the Doctor begins feeling abnormally strange, painful emotions, she doesn’t expect it to lead her where they do. She finds herself in late 21st century Pete's World where there exists a quasi-immortal Rose Tyler. As she hides her identity, she helps Rose navigate the ghosts in her head, she finds herself falling for her all over again. How does Rose feel about this strange woman? Why does she feel so magnetically drawn to her, as though they are bound to one another, instantly?This is a Thirteen x Rose endgame. Rose is not “cheating on” Tentoo, nor will this be an OT3. It will be angsty, funny, with lots of emotional smut towards the end. I'm going to break your heart, but I will fix it back up again.Follow me on Tumblr.
Relationships: The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Rose Tyler, Thirteenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 247
Kudos: 215





	1. The Screen Behind the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Elialys casually slipped this into my brain, and it began to take shape. I don’t intend this to be super long, but it will still be at least 10 chapters. Rating is teen for now but will go up later on.
> 
> I want to thank my aforementioned BFF Ambre for being my beta, cheerleader, instigator, and all around go-to person on fic (and pretty much every other aspect of my life.) I love you.❤️❤️❤️
> 
> I am highly motivated by music, and there is always music inspiring my writing. I always include lyrics in my chapters.  
> There is a playlist I created for this Fic:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2ofObGJMc1YnFd3x4yTVIZ?si=JBBMJZjBQQON52XzAV7Gag
> 
> I created the same one on YouTube but the link for that is super long, so just ask me for it.
> 
> Tracks for Chapter 1:  
> "42" ~Mumford and Sons  
> "Gravity of Love"~Enigma  
> "The Screen Behind the Mirror"~Enigma

Though here at journey's end I lie

In darkness buried deep,

Beyond all towers strong and high,

Beyond all mountains steep,

Above all shadows rides the Sun

And Stars for ever dwell:

I will not say the Day is done,

Nor bid the Stars farewell

_-J.R.R. Tolkien_

  
  


All of them. 

Every single one. 

They had all left fingerprints across the Doctor’s consciousness, each signature pattern swooping and diving throughout her timeline. Months….. _years_ of adventures. Of laughs, of tears. Of saving worlds. Of hugs and companionship. 

But then ALL of them stopped abruptly like the edge of a knife. 

The perceptions lingered, however, in minute and painstaking detail.

She still remembers the warmth in Barbara’s smile. And how Susan’s small frame had felt in her- _his_ at the time- arms. How Romana’s hand had felt, in either of her regenerations when she travelled in the TARDIS. 

She still has Clara Oswald’s dimples memorised, along with the sureness of her embrace, and the smell of her shampoo. She remembers the pitch of Jack’s laugh and his flirting. She remembers the colour sequence in the Tartan of Clan MacCrimmon, worn in Jamie’s garments. The specifics of arguments with Tegan. The Brigadier’s strong handshake. Sarah Jane’s exact eye colour, and the slight crinkles around her eyes when she laughed. The cold shrill of Bill’s voice after she had been turned into a Cyberman, which matched the grasping terror that had clenched the Doctor’s hearts when the recognition finally hit home.

The songs she had danced to at Amy and Rory’s wedding. Donna Noble’s face when they had saved the Ood, and then the look of terror on her face when the Doctor had to wipe her memory. Martha and Mickey’s faces the last time she’d seen them, imprinted in her memory.

Retrospection can be destructive, or it can be helpful. Depending on who a memory is about, it can be quite moving, even. But for the Doctor, even the best memories ultimately lead to sadness and loss.

As a Time Lord, her mind greatly surpasses photographic. It is much more... _comprehensive_ , allowing her to relive nearly any memory she wishes over a more than 2,000 year lifespan. 

This has its pros and cons, of course. 

She remembers when she had stood on another beach, distinctly different than the one she is currently seated on next to Graham, bums in the sand. The present beach is much warmer, much more alien- the water beginning to glow with bioluminescence in the late evening light. 

And most of all, this beach is much less fraught with painful memories.

The worst of those being the day she--- _he_ at the time, as it was as one of the Doctor’s male regenerations---had made the ultimate sacrifice….he had let _HER_ go.

The genuine article…. _HER._

Not even needing to echo that evocatory name within her Time Lord brain is a cruel reminder of all that was left unsaid all those years ago. The universe is spiteful sometimes when it comes to irony; lack of the locutionary act sometimes speaks louder than the utterance itself. Leaving it intangible just creates a binary opposition--- a direct contrast to what is missing: her name, or the words that were never spoken. 

_“Does it need saying?”_

Indeed.

Visits with Jane Austen over the years and discussing her work had taught the Doctor that loving someone to the point of reverence makes one all the less able to create discourse about it. 

A counterpoint. 

The narrative overflows and chokes off at its exit--- unable to translate--- despite the nearly infinite forms of communication existing in the universe with which to convey meaning. 

The only thing that _had_ become tangible after she was gone--- _both_ times--- was the want. The all-consuming need. Regardless of the body the Doctor had been in, it had all stayed. The ephemerality of _her_ time in the TARDIS, yet another direct contrast to centuries of yearning she had left behind. 

Everything in the universe ends at some point, but the blip of time things exist can only be perceived by an _observer._

The Doctor, filling that role more than most in the universe, had found that the worst part was the need to rip open the void and pull her back through. It was a need with such an unnerving ferocity, it terrified the old crackpot. She had stayed away from the TARDIS console on those days, certain that her beloved ship would pick up on her desperation.

And the need to touch her had stayed--- to be near her. The need to feel her. The full lips. Her slender frame. To taste her skin. To meld with her, become entangled in her. 

To put her hands into that golden hair. So much so that this current incarnation boasted the same hair colour. Unconscious as it may have been when old Basil Funkenstein had burst into regeneration energy, she had stopped denying it to herself.

It had become more and more difficult, each time she looked in the mirror. 

Back then, when it all had ended, it had been sealed up at the closing of the void. The light was gone. The sanctuary, emptied. The last thing the Doctor had seen was Rose Tyler’s distraught face as _he_ had walked away, leaving a full regeneration of himself behind for her to spend the rest of her days with. The one who _DID_ utter the words.

“Doc?” Graham puts his hand on her arm.

“Yeah, Graham. Sorry. I didn’t catch your last sentence.” She pinches her eyebrows together, and even with sunglasses on, Graham can see the look of consternation on her face.

The Doctor, Graham, Ryan, and Yaz had stopped to visit Thalassoparia--- a planet almost entirely covered by water, save for thousands of little island oases. They certainly had needed a holiday, after their recent attempt at one at Tranquility Spa didn’t exactly go as planned- but nothing ever had when it came to life with the Doctor.

After their recent incident with the Judoon, and of course the Doctor meeting ‘Ruth,’ combined with the Master making his return to lead her to a torched Gallifrey, she herself above all needed some downtime. 

“What is it, Doc?” Graham’s eyes always give him away. They soften, his eyebrows accentuating, and his forehead creases.

He squeezes her arm tighter. “The only cure for loneliness is vulnerability, Doc. That’s what my Grace would say.”

The Doctor, quick to evade further probing and shirk the weight of Graham’s unrelenting empathy and his tendency to be intuitive to her distress, changes the subject. Leaping to her feet and pulling Graham up with her, she greets her two other friends with enthusiasm seemingly conjured from thin air.

“I’m not lonely, I’ve got my fam! Look, Yaz and Ryan found one!”

The other two members of the “fam” rejoin them, Yaz holding a glowing orb with dangly tentacles, a bit like a jellyfish. 

“So Doctor, what do I do now?” 

She hunches down to examine the creature, scrunching her nose. “You stroke it. Not the tentacly things, but the top. It should start to glow brighter and you will feel its energy. It has a calming effect. If it makes you sneeze or feel the urge to take up competitive pillow fighting- stop immediately!” She holds out her hand in Yaz’s face and pulls out her sonic, buzzing it over the creature.

“Will it sting me?” Yaz’s voice is fraught with concern.

The Doctor stands upright and looks closer at the readout panel on her sonic. “Ninety-nine percent sure it won’t. Well- seventy percent. Okay, thirty percent, total minimum. But! It will make for a great story! ‘Hello, my name is Yaz and my hand glows purple because I got stung by an Arcana!’” 

The Doctor flashes her manic grin, which she has mastered in practically all of her incarnations, a mask constantly pasted over her face whether it is sincere or not.

Her three companions look closer at the weird orb-creature, each taking turns stroking it, smiling delightedly. They chatter, giving the Doctor the opportunity to wander away again, plopping back in the sand, pretending to fiddle with her sonic, attempting to maintain a watery smile.

She looks across the sea again, the memory re-invading her periphery like a fracture. The smell of her hair. The chestnut colour of her eyes. The taste of her mouth those two short times she wasn’t even herself. And then watching her kiss a biological mistake- an offshoot- a branch of the Doctor’s consciousness. The ultimate sacrifice, for her happiness.

_“Both of you, answer me this. When I last stood on this beach on the worst day of my life, what was the last thing I said to you? Go on, say it!”_

_“I said ‘Rose Tyler’.”_ Prat.

_And how was that sentence gonna end?”_

_“Does it need saying?”_

As of late, the memory of Rose Tyler has been much heavier even than it normally is. Recent events taken into account, this isn’t completely unexpected. After seeing the evidence of the re-destruction of Gallifrey, the Doctor had half-expected shop dummies to start coming after them. 

She had been disappointed when they didn’t.

Graham comes back and sits next to her in the sand again. Ryan and Yaz carefully put the Arcana back in the water and rejoin them. 

Yaz looks down at her bare feet in the sand, glowing with phosphorescence, wiggling her toes. The silence becomes heavy and the Doctor can tell she is about to get ambushed by their empathy.

“Doc….” Graham starts again. “We’re…..really worried about you. I know there’s a load of things on your mind, but we want you to know that we’re here. And you never say anything. You just clam up and keep it to yourself. And that ain’t healthy.”

Yaz and Ryan nod in agreement.

Being one of the most perceptive friends she’s ever had, Graham has a large space within the Doctor’s hearts. This is a positive thing because he is terribly kind, and he always helps out when _people_ are concerned. There have been many situations in their adventures where Graham has been the one to comfort someone who was hurt or scared.

His compassion goes directly through him, translating into the warmth of his broad hand, which has returned to her arm. The soft pad of his thumb strokes soothingly, and he squeezes gently.

The solitary negative aspect about everything that concerns Graham O’Brien is that he can read her. She can’t keep secrets around him because he is the first to pick up on her distress, always. 

Rose had been like that, mostly because it was inherent in everything that was _Rose_. She just always….. _knew_ with people. 

But when it came to Rose reading the Doctor--- when you are completely, and utterly _in love_ with someone, you are already paying close attention to nearly everything they do, attempting to read them--- noticing the smallest things, to decipher whether they feel the same for you. You rack your brains for any trace, and intuition becomes second nature. A deep connection becomes almost telepathic, whether it is intended or not. With that in place, Rose could pick up on _many_ of the Doctor's behaviours, and even predict how _he_ would react to things.

“Oh, who wants to commiserate all day? C’mon, you lot. Best get back to the TARDIS.” She stands rapidly, pulling Graham up, and they all brush the glowing sand off of themselves. 

About twelve paces away stands the TARDIS, and the fam all go inside, distracted by their excited talk about the events of the day. The Doctor lingers at the threshold and looks out over the water again.

The truth is, if she’s honest with herself, she has been feeling a distress recently that she isn’t even sure actually belongs to her. It _tastes_ different, as though the _thought itself_ has a different signature, tinged with a different culture altogether. Which is impossible, because even highly telepathic beings across the universe don’t feel this... _human._

She shakes her head rapidly as though she can knock the feeling out by force of agitation, narrowing her eyes and closing the TARDIS doors behind her.

What she misses in the meantime is Yaz, picking up her accidentally dropped psychic paper from the floor next to the console, oblivious to the two odd words “BAD WOLF”---which vanish instantly.

The Doctor quite abruptly announces, “Right! I need to take you three home…. just for a little while. I've got some things that I need to take care of.”

Yaz quite understandably becomes distracted from bringing up the issue of the neglected psychic paper, and her tendency towards apprehension concerning any form of separation from the Doctor switches into high alert. By the time she closes it and hands it back to the Doctor, she is switched into default “Yaz” mode. The Doctor has learned that this is her own personal way of caring, whereas Graham tends to try to talk it out of her.

“What!? Why, Doctor? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, honestly. I just need to take the TARDIS somewhere for…..maintenance. She’s been acting up and it’s too dangerous for you three to come along. Besides Yaz, you said you wanted to see your family. This is the perfect opportunity to do so. And it will just be for a couple of hours, I’ll come back ‘round for you after dinner. Go...enjoy yourselves.”

The Doctor ignores their foreboding expressions and punches the coordinates in, and the TARDIS lurches into flight, landing just a few moments later. 

Ryan opens the doors to see that they are in the normal spot, in front of Yaz’s flat.

“You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you Doctor?” he asks.

“No, Ryan. Honestly.” She exits with them and throws her arms around all three simultaneously, her hug lingering longer than normal.

After an uneasy goodbye, the three let her go, and she shuts the door and steers herself into the vortex. 

Nausea overtakes her immediately, and she collapses with her back to the console, her hands on her head, panting. She draws her legs up and curls into a fetal position, lying down and trying to ground herself with the cool feel of the floor. 

The deep silence in her brain only highlights the double thundering of her hearts.

How can she feel this _WOUNDED?_

She pulls herself, dragging her body up the console to the telepathic circuit headset, and she slams it onto her head, initiating the sequence on contact. Channeling the energy within the connection from wherever this incapacitating feeling is coming, the TARDIS lurches even harder, sparks exploding off of the console, and smoke spills out. It shakes violently, and the Doctor can feel the ship’s resistance, but she pushes past it.

The TARDIS lands--- _HARD,_ knocking the Doctor back to the floor.

A minute later---or an hour, who knew, really--- she attempts to stand, shaking. It doesn’t work. The hurt feeling is _MUCH_ stronger now, weighing on her hearts like lead. It feels like lacerations have formed across her chest, flames erupting in their wake, with all the pressure on her hearts of a black hole. Hell, her hearts _ARE_ the black hole. 

This entire progression is intimately familiar to her, of course. She hasn’t felt it since after the War, but when an attack hasn’t happened in several centuries, one has a tendency to cover over that part of the psyche. However, that _*tincture*_ of --- _otherness---_ is what she can’t place.

Gradually, the feeling lifts, and her face and extremities stop tingling as she remembers to take deeper breaths.

She stands, and exits the TARDIS, toggling a button on her sonic to boost its perception filter.

As she steps out, her intuition kicks in and her hair stands on end. 

She is standing in an alley, on Earth. Late 21st century London from a first glance.........and there are very futuristic-looking _ZEPPELINS_ in the sky.

Just then, she hears voices, and the pounding sound of running feet. A very small flash of blue zips by her, and following it are soldiers with red berets. By the time two dozen or so troops have raced past, an explosion is seen in the direction where the blue creature has gone, and the Doctor being the Doctor, she is spurred into action after the blast. Running for a good two hundred paces, she reaches the rest of the troops to hear the one of the soldiers yelling into his intercom.

“We’ve caught it! Tell the Captain we’ve got it, to bring Tyler down!!”

The Doctor’s legs turn to jelly on the spot, and she freezes, unable to take another step. She can _hear_ her double heartbeat between her temples.

Ten paces away, a large, black car pulls up and a middle-age, balding man with greying strawberry-blond hair steps out. He's wearing a lab coat and serious expression, and he looks at her, eyeing her up and down. 

“Who are you? Do you realize that you are in an unauthorized zone? This is official UNIT business!!! Ma’am? You have to leave!! Captain!?”

He starts walking in the direction the troops.

The Doctor clears her throat.

“That’s a lovely Groske….”

The man stops in his tracks.

“No, Graske. It’s a Graske. G-R-A-S--”

“---No, you’re wrong, actually. A Graske is pinkish. This one is blue. It’s a Groske. They’re similar, except this one can smell artron energy. I used to work with one from time to time. They’re wicked smart, technologically brilliant, and oh, look at that! The one you’ve captured has already teleported. If you had known all of this beforehand and done your homework, you would’ve known how to catch it.”

The middle-age man reddens in the face, and his impatience shows through.

“Ma’am, who exactly are you? How do you know all this?”

“Let’s just say I’m someone who is thorough.”

The man closes the distance between them, close enough that the Doctor can read the ID badge around his neck.

He lowers his voice. “Give me a name at _ONCE_ or I’ll inform the Captain here that you’re a threat.”

The Doctor’s eyes widen as she reads his badge: 

_DR. ANTHONY TYLER: UNIT SCIENTIFIC ADVISOR_

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I thrive on comments, so if you are the type afraid to leave one, please do anyway. XOXO, Keysmash, or just a heart. Tell me what you think.
> 
> THANK YOU!!!!


	2. I Am Done With My Graceless Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find Rose, and the Doctor loses herself and then finds herself again.
> 
> Playlist:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2ofObGJMc1YnFd3x4yTVIZ?si=lmkpVH4ET4uNEh94OQJ64A
> 
> Tracks:
> 
> "Shake it Out" ~Florence + the Machine  
> "Barcelona" ~Jewel

  
  


5:11 A.M. 11 November, 2064.

Fuck. 

So this is how it’s going to be, again. Every morning just like the last. 

5:11 AM, down to the last infinitesimal second. 

Rose Tyler rolls over and looks blearily at the alarm clock, which isn’t set to go off until 6:00. She’s not sure anymore why she bothers to set it to begin with, since she consistently wakes up earlier. 

She stretches out and lays flat on her bed, allowing her bones to crack and her muscles to once again circulate blood. She then yawns, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes until fractals of light begin to explode behind her eyelids, wishing for a moment that they were real. 

For several moments, they are clouds of a nebula in a long-forgotten galaxy somewhere buried in her psyche. Ionized gases of pink, purple, green, and blue in the Orion cluster swirl about until they inexorably fade the moment she opens her eyes.

She doesn’t bother to reach over for him anymore. It’s been six years since he’s been gone--- seven years since he forgot his name wasn’t actually John Smith. Bitter irony that the most brilliant mind in the human race couldn’t remember how to tie his Chucks six months before he died. 

Well…. _part_ human, anyway. 

He never forgot her name, however--- his oblivescence never once extending to her. His aged face would break out in the same euphoric glee every time she would enter the room, even if it had been a mere five minutes since he had last seen her.

For a solitary moment, he was reuniting with her in 1953 London, or on the TARDIS after escaping a black hole. 

Her therapist, Nigel, says that dementia is common, and that eighty-eight had been a ripe old age. That she should be _thankful_ for all the years they did manage to have together. Nigel is also aware that his birth certificate was a lie, and so is hers. 

She rolls out of bed, turns on the light, and pads into the bathroom. After relieving herself, she examines her face in the mirror. She has stopped waiting expectantly for grey hairs, wrinkles, or sagging skin. None of it has ever come. For all these years, she has gotten two very fine lines under each eye. 

_Two._

She’s a walking anachronism.

She supposes that Nigel would be reminding her once again how lucky she is. Most women don’t look this good at seventy-eight (and some change if you add in all the Dimension Cannon years, but who’s counting?) 

Of course, most women need to take drastic measures to look half this good, even with the advancements of cosmetic surgery these days. Non-conformity being the norm for her life since a certain idiot took her hand in a basement in 2005, Rose remembers bitterly that most women don’t have to hire an entire legal team and draft up a non-disclosure agreement to hire a therapist to begin with.

But _his_ body did appear that old--- the Doctor’s. He _aged._ The last five years of his life were the hardest. Five years prior, he had stopped running. He had stopped bouncing on the balls of his feet when he got excited. 

Later, he had stopped remembering their anniversary. And then eventually the anniversary of that day, so, so long ago--- in Norway.

On that day he had taken her hand as she watched the TARDIS fade for the last time, when the _OTHER_ one never even said goodbye. She had looked at him, and had only then realized that they were mirrors of each other, the two of them. Both wearing the same colours. Yet another subliminal message the universe had sent them to indicate the way things were _supposed_ to be. Another indication of their synchronicity. They were mirrors not only in how they looked, they had known for years.

 _“Now what?”_ she had said, as he’d clutched her hand tighter, seemingly afraid that she would let go and run away. 

Her stomach had growled audibly, then.

_“Rose Tyler, how about we start with breakfast?”_

His voice echoes in her head, nearly every moment of every day...what he said on different occasions... what he _would_ say in others. She’s given up hiding the fact that she still talks to him, and even more, that she waits for the universe to respond with his answer.

It usually comes through.

After checking her phone for the news of the day, Rose tosses her pyjamas back on the foot of the bed and puts on her running clothes. Five minutes later, she is in her immersion rig and VR headset, on her multi-directional treadmill and logged into her avatar with her virtual run set to a beach somewhere in Florida. It is next to an orange grove, and she periodically gets a blast of artificial orange scent every time her rig squirts it into her periphery. It reminds her of orange Fanta when she was a kid. Cheesy, yes, but still nostalgic of trips to McDonald’s with her mum. 

Every now and then, her trainer comes over her headset and tells her to move faster or to slow up so that she can maximize her pace, then he moves on to the next person. She can see the faces of the chosen avatars of the dozen or so other people in her class that her trainer is also yelling at on the right side of her field of view, including Ross, the fellow who keeps trying to chat her up and take the same classes she does. His avatar looks like Chris Hemsworth back when he was making the _Avengers_ films.

 _“I’m old enough to be your grandmother….”_ she thinks, rolling her eyes after he sends her a virtual wave. 

Of course, the Doctor was nine-hundred something when they met, so there is hardly a comparison there, but still. As if she could fathom being interested in someone else. 

She finishes up her run, says goodbye to her classmates, and logs off, towelling off her face. 

Her spacious ensuite, complete with soaking tub and shower, soon fills with steam as she stands under the high-pressure shower head, massaging the kinks out of her muscles. As young as she appears, she finds now that she needs to allow more time for stretching and recovery, especially since she can’t figure out why she is so sore.

Then she remembers.

Last night’s attack.

It had been the worst in….. _months_. She had almost forgotten how to ground herself, and had fallen asleep on the bathroom floor from exhaustion afterward, on the cold marble tile when the tremors had finally dissipated and her extremities stopped tingling. 

She had then woken up at 1:00 AM, shivering with the rapidly unravelling, ethereal appearance of golden radiance hermetically sealed behind her eyelids. She remembers she saw him. Another of the same vision during the attack; she had become made of light---nearly translucent, once again. 

But she couldn’t save him even in the midst of a hallucination. It’s a cruel reminder that the inertia of her life has always been entirely too aleatory, and not the prosaic humdrum that is to be expected of the average Londoner.

At least this time she hadn’t broken any blood vessels in her eyes. In the months after he died, she had been forced to wear sunglasses for several days following each attack. She also had felt the continued presence of bile in her throat, her voice endlessly hoarse after sobbing herself to sleep yet again.

The causal nexus of the Doctor’s life all of a sudden becoming entirely too transient was the eventual diagnosis of panic disorder. It also explained why since his death, she has been under the opinion that the Time Lords got exactly what they deserved in the end. Add that to the fact that the stuffy old bastards would have thought her Doctor was a mongrel--- an abomination.

Getting obliterated into particles had not only been warranted, it had been a _gift_ to the universe. 

_“Thank you, Doctor. Love, everyone else.”_

She finishes her shower, towelling herself dry and re-entering her bedroom. She continues reasoning with herself.

Besides, Nigel always says to practice gratitude and to be kind to herself, especially considering all she has been through. Recovering from the loss of _anyone_ takes adjustment, but losing the Doctor yet again? Unfathomable.

And to drive the irony home... because why not, really... now _SHE_ is the one who seems to have forever to look forward to alone. Nigel could take his gratitude journal and shove it up his arse.

Rose’s phone rings just then, putting an end to her defeatism, and she tosses it on the bed after answering.

“I’m getting dressed so I can’t switch on my portion of the hologram. Go ahead, I see you though.”

“Rose. We....have someone we think you should talk to. They know more than they should about a few things. There was... an incident.” 

She can see from the torso-up hologram that her little brother’s normally soft features are visibly strained, and the lines on his brow are furrowed even deeper than normal. He doesn’t handle the stress of his job well now that the Doctor is gone, either.

“Tony, honestly. Couldn’t this have waited? I mean, I have worked for this company for more than fifty years, and I have run it for at least half that…..the least they can do is hold off and give me time for coffee and breakfast.”  
  


“Well, you are my big sister, so I need advice. Is there such thing as a Groske? Not a Graske, but a Groske.”

There he goes, turning on her tendency towards empathy for her baby brother. Rose rolls her eyes.

“Yes….. actually, there is. I’ve never seen one in this universe, though I know they exist. They were more common in the original one. They’re really quite useful….why?”

“Just come down, ok?”

“............”

“Rose?”

“Ugh………....fine.”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The Doctor is usually quite good at escaping. 

She has always been rather methodical yet ostentatious about it... cool and collected, even. Making it a bit of an art form has been something she has prided herself on over the years.

Her third self had once escaped from a fleet of Daleks using plastic sheeting to create a makeshift hot air balloon and floated up an air shaft. On another occasion, much later, her twelfth self had used a real parachute to escape an exploding airplane when Clara-the-Zygon had tried to blow him up. 

However, at present, the Doctor now has reason to believe that she may soon be reunited with Rose Tyler, if indeed she is still alive. So, the Doctor thinks it better to resist the strong urge to shimmy down a drainpipe outside just for sheer entertainment, and she tries her hand at some patience.

It is, as expected, short-lived.

At present, she finds herself on a squashy armchair, in a quite posh sitting area outside two large wooden doors, apparently within UNIT headquarters--- which in this universe is housed inside Big Ben. In front of her, on a large coffee table, is a scale model of the Peter Tyler memorial stadium, complete with tiny footballers on a tiny green pitch.

The Doctor being the Doctor, she cannot keep her hands to herself. She glances furtively at Ralph, the burly-looking guard who is supposed to be watching her, and when she sees he is busy fiddling with the communicator on his wrist, she sneaks her hands inside the tiny stadium.

She picks up two of the tiny model football players and begins narrating. Since learning that her eleventh self was really quite good at football, she still has all the positions and strategies memorized, but she of course feels it would add to the drama if a referee is a Dalek.

Just as she’s lost herself and yells _“EXTERMINATE!!”_ Ralph clears his throat loudly.

“Ma’am?” 

“Yes, Ralphie? Mind if I call you Ralphie? Bet that’s what your mum called you when you were little. You look like a Ralphie…...sorry. I start to ramble when I’m nervous. One time I was so nervous when I was held prisoner that I….”

His disapproving scowl tells her that not only should she replace the miniature footballers, she should also button it. She instead stands and wanders over to a window, looking out over traffic. 

She is just in the second round of bouncing on the balls of her feet and humming _“Give My Regards to Broadway”_ when the large wooden doors open and a tall, well-dressed woman calls to her.

“Ms….O’Brien?”

The Doctor doesn’t hear her, as the name fails to register.

The woman clears her throat again. “Ms. O’Brien??”

“AH! Yes! That’s me….Doctor! Doctor….O’Brien. Yes....but you can call me Grace! What’s your name? Do you like showtunes?”

The woman shows no evidence of being put off by the Doctor’s erratic behaviour, as though this is something she’s quite used to. She remains expressionless.

“Right….Dr. O’Brien, Dr. Prentice will see you now, if you’ll follow me.”

The Doctor mutters under her breath loud enough that the woman can hear her, “Blimey.... grumpier than even the Brig at first!”

She follows the grumpy woman inside another richly-decorated room complete with a long conference table, but no one else is there, so she takes the opportunity to look all around at some of the portraits on the wall as she waits.

The largest one is of Pete Tyler himself, and below, the Doctor scans the plaque that gives the brief history of how the Vitex millionaire eventually took over Torchwood: 

_Alongside his daughter, Dr. Rose Tyler-Smith, Peter Tyler changed the company name from Torchwood to the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce. Together, they joined with other branches across the world to defend the Earth._

The Doctor glances over to the next portrait, and her breath catches in her throat.

Looking back at her are her biological metacrisis counterpart, along with Rose herself. It appears to be about ten years or so after they had arrived back in this universe, judging by her counterpart’s slight ageing. Rose somehow looks no different, if only more beautiful.

The plaque reads:

_Doctor Rose Tyler-Smith and Doctor John Smith, UNIT Co-Chair and UNIT Chief Scientific Advisor_

The Doctor’s hearts swell up in her chest, and tears begin to spill out. So, Rose became a Doctor, too. Pride nearly overtakes her senses, and she needs to look away lest lose herself completely.

Rose had been the girl who had brought the Doctor back to life, and made her know herself again at a point during 2,000 years of existence when she had _most wanted_ to be dead. When she--- _he_ at the time-- had _meant_ to be dead. 

Rose Tyler, for the Doctor, had been the embodiment of light itself. The utter antithesis to the Doctor’s darkness. To her mania, her violence and anger. 

_“I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself.”_

She had indeed. 

What she had done that day had been the cosmogyral equivalent of swallowing the eclipse caused by the full moon, so that she could subsequently absorb the sun. She had overtaken the Doctor’s senses with light, in halcyon days full of near-euphoria, in stark contrast to the pre-Rose days. 

And then she was gone, leaving the Doctor once again in the penumbra.

The Doctor realises at once that she needs to get a grip on herself, and just as she is swallowing the considerable lump in her throat and wiping her eyes, another door opens. A blond, middle-age woman wearing her hair in a chignon and smartly dressed in a suit jacket and skirt enters, and she begins talking quietly with the woman who had escorted the Doctor into the room. The latter approaches the Doctor once again.

“Please….Dr. O’Brien. Have a seat. I’m Loretta McNulty, and this is Dr. Mary Prentice. She runs this organisation,” explains the woman.

The Doctor, yet to get a good look at Dr. Prentice, plops down in one of the chairs at the table, and the two other women join her.

Dr. Prentice outstretches her hand to the Doctor, and she looks up into the woman’s face for the first time. She doesn’t look familiar, but the Doctor suddenly feels an ache between her eyes.

At once, it feels like something is pressing into her brain, and she can’t quite approximate the woman’s existence. Intense pressure overtakes her, and she finds that she doesn’t want to look at the woman, as though her synapses are catching on fire. 

She clamps her hands over her temples and squeezes her eyes shut, and all of a sudden she realises that what she is looking at is in fact an incredibly advanced perception filter.

“Please.....perception filters don’t work on me...could you turn it off? Yours is so strong that even _I’m_ having trouble with it. My head is going to explode.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I see you’ve had psychic training.” says Dr. Prentice, laughing.

The Doctor’s hearts begin to pound. This is a voice she would know anywhere, no matter how many eons had passed.

Dr. Prentice at once sits opposite the Doctor, fiddling with a pendulum around her neck. At once, the perception filter is deactivated.

The Doctor’s hearts seize up and she forgets to breathe. No time has passed, it all grinds to a halt in that moment.

In hypnotic slow-motion, the Doctor’s entire 2,000 years are dissolved down into this one tiny pinpoint of an instant. Her spine stiffens, her entire body tensing. 

The woman on the opposite side of the table gives her a dazzling smile, and it is like the sun has come out. If the Doctor died, right here and right now, she would be happy. At once she can’t remember why she had been so _arrogant_ all those years ago, and her Time Sense betrays her once again, as though it had been yesterday since she last stood on that beach. 

It’s all back, in these dragged-out seconds that could have passed for the two billion years the Doctor had passed inside the confession dial. Who knew the difference? The deep ache in her chest, the carnal desire, the want, and the need are all back, and it all hits her like a train. 

The love of her life, of her _LIVES_ , is sitting across from her. Her soulmate. Rose is the most ecstatically beautiful thing she has ever seen, ever _felt._ It’s almost sabaism, this need to drop to the floor to worship her for creating the stars. 

_“I’ve seen fake gods and bad gods and demigods and would-be gods! And out of all that, out of that whole pantheon, if I believe in one thing, just ONE thing, I BELIEVE IN_ _HER._ _”_

The Doctor’s own voice echoes in her head. She should have realised when this Dr. Prentice had walked into the room why the presence was so familiar, so soothing. Why the Doctor had felt so complete. 

“I go by Mary Prentice to most people, but my name’s really Rose Tyler-Smith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. I am highly motivated by comments, be it one word or several. ❤️❤️❤️


	3. Home is a Feeling I Buried in You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor AKA "Grace," and Rose get to know one another.
> 
> Playlist tracks:  
> "Breathe" ~Melissa Etheridge  
> "I'll Be Your Mirror" ~Lowland Hum  
> "Guiding Light" ~Mumford and Sons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT:  
> A few hours after I posted this, I got word that Melissa Etheridge's son Beckett died yesterday. Melissa Etheridge has been one of my favorite musicians since the 90's, and she is a gay icon. Beckett died from opioid addiction, and having lost many of my own family members with the combination of mental illnesses and drug addiction, I decided to make a note here.
> 
> I myself am a sufferer of depression and anxiety, and I know the depths of desperation that would have people without insurance and resources to self-medicate. Please, reach out to people. LOVE ONE ANOTHER. SEE LOVE IN THE WORLD. And above all, HELP ONE ANOTHER. We're all hurting, and we're all misunderstood, especially in this time where none of us knows which end is up.
> 
> I also am the mother of a 5 year old boy, and anytime I hear of someone losing their child, it makes my own anxiety go through the roof. I cannot imagine the pain she and her family are in right now.
> 
> I *ALMOST* named this chapter "Home is a Feeling I Buried in You" from one of her songs, entitled "Breathe." I am now changing it back, and including the lyrics to that song:
> 
> I played the fool today  
> And I just dream of vanishing into the crowd  
> Longing for home again  
> But home is a feeling I buried in you
> 
> I'm all right, I'm all right  
> It only hurts when I breathe
> 
> I can't ask for things to be still again  
> I can't ask if I could walk through the world in your eyes  
> Longing for home again  
> But home is a feeling I buried in you
> 
> I'm all right, I'm all right  
> It only hurts when I breathe  
> I'm all right, I'm all right  
> It only hurts when I breathe
> 
> My window through which nothing hides  
> And everything sings  
> 'Cause I'm counting the signs  
> Cursing the miles in between
> 
> Home is a feeling I buried in you  
> I'm all right, I'm all right  
> It only hurts when I breathe

The TARDIS is quiet, filled with an eerie, uncharacteristic stillness.

There is no trademark wheezing, groaning sound, nor grinding of the engines. There is no thrum of the rotor—- the sound those who have travelled within her doors can swear they hear in their sleep for the duration of their lives. There is not even the vibration of the ancillary power station recharging.

There is a creaking sometimes heard in things that are almost silent. An expanding and contracting that occurs--- a _shiver_.

For the TARDIS, along with these _contextual_ reverberations is only the still, organic sound of her ambient, metallic murmur. Her _breathing_.

She is used to this, though--- this stillness throughout her labyrinthine expanse. 

This _interlude._

Waiting for her Time Lord. 

She has waited unmeasured centuries--- even _eons_ at times before she has been put in flight again. 

And she would be willing to wait forever.

Her Thief. 

She has taken many faces, many forms. 

She wonders in these moments if the Thief still believes that she is the one who stole a TARDIS--- or if she remembers the truth, that it was _the TARDIS_ who stole a Time Lord.

She thinks the Thief has forgotten the day when they spoke to one another, face to face, for the first and only time. But being connected telepathically, it doesn’t matter so much. 

They share an unbreakable bond, after all.

She does wish that her Time Lord will succeed quickly, because here she doesn’t feel well—- this is not her universe. She does not run well on the energy here. She has evolved quite a bit since the last time, however, so instead of shutting down completely, she instead has limited capabilities.

But, she knows that _SHE_ is here—- the one whose eyes had glowed. The one who had devoured her heart and with it the entire Vortex. 

The one who saved her Thief, many times over---and for that she is forever in her debt.

She _feels_ her. 

And she is in distress. She is in unbearable pain at times, even though she hides it convincingly well. 

But the TARDIS knows her Thief will help. 

And in the end, she hopes that _she_ will come onboard, once again, where she belongs. She hopes that she will mend what was broken, rejoin what was separated.

Only time will tell. 

  
  


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Suddenly, the doors slam open and a blonde cyclone of motion breaks the silence. 

“I found her! Oh my, Rassilon I found her!” 

Her cheeks are bright red, and she is positively _glowing_ , indicating that she has just run a considerable distance. Her face is alight with joy, with her hands gesturing wildly about. In her hand, she clutches something small and glass.

“....and she is every bit as beautiful as I remember! Maybe even more!”

She takes off her coat in a hurry, instinctively tossing it up over a coral strut, but seeing as the strut is not there, it falls to the ground in a heap.

She looks around, shouting at no one in particular and scoffs,“What? Don’t laugh! Given my company a little bit ago, can you blame me?” 

She picks up her coat. “I really should find that old coat rack, these things won’t do....” She walks over and pats a large crystal strut, which is quite tall, and then drapes the garment on a lever on the console instead.

“Oh! She said she likes my earring! Is that good? Is she chatting me up? She was asking me about it!”

She races about maniacally, arms flailing, and she can’t get a grip on how deliriously happy she is--- which is a marked improvement from the last few months. 

“I was right! I did feel a telepathic signature, and it’s definitely hers. How it crossed the void into our dimension is a mystery for another day, but Rose is walking around with a severed telepathic bond and she’s projecting unconsciously--- _and_ the other me is dead.” 

She then reconsiders her blunt approach, “Yes.... I suppose I should be a little more sensitive, but he spent more than 50 years with her, and he died a happy old man with too much hair gel. He doesn’t need _that much_ sympathy. Besides, he’s me, and when have I needed people to feel sorry for me?” 

She pauses, then glances up. “ _Don’t_ answer that...”

“And NO, we’re not here for _that_. What do you think I’m going to do, coax her into my snogbox and take off?” 

She cringes, pounding herself on the head with her fists. “Oh, shut up, Clara Oswald!”

She stops in her tracks, sticking an index finger in the air. “ _Although_ ….”

She revises, shaking her head vigorously and continues walking about. 

“ _NO_ , Doctor. You are not here to seduce Rose Tyler. You are here to make sure she is ok, and to help. Besides, you’re a woman this time, and she’s probably not even into that.”

She stops in her tracks again. 

_“BUUUUT_ , it is the late 21st century, when everyone stops being fixated on sexual orientation and the absurd social constructs of gender identity. Still...she wouldn’t be interested in me, probably. I’m not as.... _dashing_ as I once was.”

She looks up again, poking her finger into the air.

“Oi, don’t start! I do not! I bring them along for the adventure! .....Anyway, I told her I used to work for a remote division of Torchwood, before the battle. I said that ever since, I’ve been a freelancer! Which is technically true, but still….I can’t tell her I’m me yet, too risky. And I need to be sure of a few things first.”

Quietly, she adds, “And…I need to not wear my hearts on my sleeve.”

She zones out for a moment, nearly forgetting the glass phial she is clutching in her hand, and she looks at it finally.

“Oh! Right!” 

She hurries down the hall to her lab, and at once, busies herself getting set up, tossing some odds and ends off of a long table to make room. 

Then she gets into a large cabinet and brings out an enormous contraption the size of a small Xerox machine. Nearly buckling under its weight, she hoists it up on the table, drops it unceremoniously, causing at least two small doors to pop open, and some springs to fly out.

“Whew! I was a bit taller the last time I used this!”

Once she stops panting, she goes back into the cabinet to fetch the instruction manual, and she begins to read: “Thank you for purchasing the new ‘All-In-One Centrifuge, DNA Tester, Espresso Maker, Potato Peeler, and Fax Machine.”

She looks up from the manual, continuing to regale the TARDIS (or whoever) in her tale; “Well to be fair, I didn’t purchase it, I won it in a hand of Galuphraxian Poker in a seedy nightclub on Roambulus-7. In the game, you’re supposed to just yell ‘SNAP!’ at random intervals, smack your hand on the table, and whoever does it at the same time as the dealer wins….at least I _think_ those were the rules.”

She stares off into space for a moment, wrinkling her brow, considering.

“Besides, I did much better that time than recently with Ryan, Graham, and Yaz, but in my defense, I didn’t know we were playing Blackjack. _AND_ , I blame the Master. I didn’t know it was him yet, but his….energy _must_ have been throwing me off.”

She gruffly slams the instruction manual down on the table, then carefully withdraws the phial.

“A hair from Rose Tyler’s head! Look at thaaaaaat.” She holds up the phial, scrunching her nose and looking at it closely.

“Anyway, Rose said there was an ‘accident’ in the lab years ago, and it caused her to stop ageing. I’m pretty sure she’s bluffing, and it was actually Bad Wolf. And, I’m fairly certain she’s immortal. I have to run tests, make sure she is ok before we go back. I need to see that she’s not a danger to herself or anyone else too, if she’s still got that in her system.”

She looks up, addressing the TARDIS directly. “I know, you’re not feeling well. I promise it won’t be more than a few weeks. Besides, it’s _Rose.”_

She holds up the phial containing the hair, looking closely at it once more.

“And I know exactly what you’re going to say, ‘why didn’t I just go into Rose’s old room to get a hair from there.’ It’s because I have no way of knowing whether a hair I find in her room is pre-Bad Wolf or post Bad Wolf. Plus, all of that energy she absorbed may have evolved over all these years.”

She reads further in the instructions; “Plug in the machine, and deposit the specimen into the door that reads ‘specimen door,’ push the button labelled ‘DNA,’ and wait thirty seconds for the results. Okay.”

She crouches down eye-level with the four small doors, and next to the one that says ‘Insert potato here,’ she finds the correct door. She places the phial inside the machine, pushes the button, then continues regaling the TARDIS in her tale.

“Anyway, they have some kind of situation involving a bunch of Groske, I don’t know, they didn’t tell me much. They have asked me to come back and work with them. Apparently, I start Monday. So….I work for two UNITs in two different universes. Maybe in this universe they’ll give me a desk!”

The machine dings, and all of a sudden, it blasts something small out of a protruding tube across the room, the object crashing through a glass cabinet door holding jars full of specimens of body parts of certain aliens.

“Bollocks!! What did I do??”

She races over to the broken glass, and there lying in front of it, is a very old, very moldy, wrinkly potato.

“Whoops. Must’ve pressed the wrong button.”

She goes back to the machine, making sure this time to press the button marked “DNA,” and she waits the required thirty seconds.

The machine finally dings, and she looks on the panel. “Results sent. Sent? Sent where? What do they think, I’m at a post--- _OH!_ ”

She races at top speed out of the lab, down the hall, takes two lefts and one right, into a room with a plaque on the door that reads “Junk Drawer 34.”

Inside, she pulls a blanket off a large contraption that is beeping. Yanking a piece of paper out of it, she triumphantly begins to read---

“HA! A fax!! Wait…. _WHAT_? It says not enough of the hair follicle is included in my sample, that I need at least five hairs for an accurate result. How in the bloody hell am I supposed to get that many? Hold her down and pull out her hair??”

She groans, exasperatedly. Not wanting to nudge an already sick TARDIS, she realises that the next eighteen hours until seeing Rose again are going to be long indeed.

  
  


>>>>>>>>>>>>

  
  


I'll be your mirror

Reflect what you are, in case you don't know

I'll be the wind, the rain and the sunset

The light on your door to show that you're home

When you think the night has seen your mind

That inside you're twisted and unkind

Let me stand to show that you are blind

Please put down your hands

'Cause I see you

I find it hard to believe you don't know

The beauty that you are

But if you don't let me be your eyes

A hand in your darkness, so you won't be afraid

When you think the night has seen your mind

That inside you're twisted and unkind

Let me stand to show that you are blind

**_Please put down your hands_ **

**_'Cause I see you_ **

**_I'll be your mirror_ **

**_I’ll be your mirror._ **

  
  
  


A mirror.

Technically speaking, it’s glass, coated with metal amalgam which produces a nearly perfect reflection of whatever is positioned in front of it.

Scientifically speaking, reflection is defined as the change in the direction of a wavefront at the interface between two different media, bouncing the wavefront back into the original medium. 

Within a _dream,_ a mirror can hold many meanings. It can be self-reflection, and the visceral desire to get to know oneself better. 

Notwithstanding the laws of science, dreaming about a mirror can translate the subliminal need for greater spirituality or peace in one’s life. Ataraxis is, after all, the main objective of all major religions throughout the universe.

Within a sleeping person’s psyche, a mirror does _not_ need to show an exact physical duplicate of the medium. It can reflect the _inner self_.

In this case, a mirror is not an object, but another person. 

The teachings of Plato speak of a twin, at the soul level. This person _is_ your duality, and they are exceedingly rare to find in dreams, and even more rare to encounter in reality.

It’s someone who causes you to take a hard look at yourself, and completely reverses the inertia in your life. This person compels you to awaken, causing a torrent of change. As a didactic mechanism, they show you everything about yourself that is holding you back, that is even _controlling_ you. 

This person--- your twin soul--- is the line of demarcation in your life between who you have been….and who you will become. Working together, when you heal the person in the mirror, you heal yourself. 

And there is a sort of inevitability that surrounds them. An inexorableness of your potentiality, comprised of what you have been, what you are, and what you _will be_ together.

Strange, uncanny coincidences and synchronicities surround the two of you--- a bit like quantum entanglement. You find that elements of the other person have retroactively been permeating into your life long before either of you is ever aware of it. And what might at first drive you mad with disbelief, might actually turn out to be the universe screaming at you to pay attention.

Eventually you give in, and you will reach a point where if you are asked to draw a self-portrait, on instinct, you would need two pieces of paper--- for _two different faces_. 

Because they are _you_. 

  
  


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Rose opens her eyes to see a glossy, reflective surface similar to liquid in front of her. It ripples, causing slight distortions in the image of herself that she sees. On instinct, she reaches out to touch, and the surface is as smooth as it appears to be.

She looks down at her feet, and she is standing in water that is mere millimeters deep, and stretches out infinitely in every direction. 

The moment she looks back up, she sees that she is no longer alone with the mirror. Standing on the other side, in place of her reflection, is Grace O’Brien. 

Rose’s jaw drops, and her first thought is how she can possibly remember every detail and feature of a person she’s met less than twenty-four hours ago, but down to the last stripe on her shirt, the recollection is _perfect._

The next thought that filters into Rose’s thoughts is the sheer _familiarity_ , as though she has known this person her whole life but until now has been completely oblivious.

Grace looks up at her and gives her a gorgeous, dorky grin, and Rose can practically _feel_ every cell in her blood begin to warm. 

Suddenly, she feels claustrophobic, but before she can react, Grace looks down at her own hand, and turns it to face Rose. She places her palm flat on the glass, and looks at Rose, then back at her hand. 

Rose follows suit, placing her hand on the glass, against Grace’s. As their palms press together, the thin surface between them ripples, like the surface of water.

Rose looks up into her face, and Grace does the same. Neither can look away. She is like an anchor, a lighthouse in the dark. Rose wants to chronicle every freckle on the side of her face, every strand branching up in her green-brown irises.

Suddenly, Grace smiles again, and begins to back away. She smiles softly, and reaches her hand out, palm facing up, indicating that she wants Rose to follow.

Rose hesitates, wrestling with a range of disconcerting emotions she is unprepared to deal with at the moment, but Grace still backs away, further. 

Rose finds first that she is _appalled_ that she _wants_ to go with her but can’t will her body to take the steps. Grace beckons for her again, and backs further and further away...until she disappears completely.

Rose tries to yell, to scream at her to wait, but no sound comes out. She wants to tell her to wait, that she won’t take long, that it’s not time yet. 

She’s not ready.

………

Rose wakes up, bolt upright in her bed, panting. She has never known a dream to be that realistic. Down to the colour of Grace’s eyes, to the stripes on her shirt, to…

Her voice of reason suddenly slaps her in the face, and the absurdity of the situation begins to metastasize in her brain.

_“Creepy dreams about a woman you have known for less than twenty-four hours is utterly preposterous--- even for you, Rose.”_

She rolls her eyes, and gets out of bed, heading to the bathroom to begin her morning routine.

Through her run, during which her trainer has to yell at her not once, but _FOUR_ times to pay attention to her speed because she is going too fast, she can’t get the dream out of her head.

Very slowly, she also becomes aware of the fact that unlike most mornings, she hadn’t been reluctant to get out of bed--- as though the cobwebs and frigid places inside her consciousness have warmed slightly. 

She finds herself _smiling_ when she thinks about beginning to train Grace O’Brien--- and she can’t approximate the _calm_ she feels. 

Like she had been grounded in her presence, Rose had felt as though she could implicitly trust Dr. O’Brien during their discussion the previous day.

At risk for being downright quixotic, Loretta had fortuitously been there to kick her shin under the table to prevent her from revealing too much about the organisation before they had a chance to discuss things with Dr. O’Brien further.

It’s almost an uneasy feeling, how comfortable she had felt in Dr. O’Brien’s presence. Soothing, almost. Rose hadn’t felt that since……

The 6AM clock brings her back to the present. Living inside the top floors of Big Ben--- the topmost part where the Doctor had had his workshop--- there are some advantages and disadvantages. 

The advantage is that someone like Rose who is not in possession of a Time Lord brain is still able to tell what time it is without looking at a clock. The disadvantage is just that--- the noise. Fortunately, the Doctor had installed nearly-soundproof walls so that the ringing of the clock wouldn’t disrupt them _too_ much. 

Ironic that the wife of a Time Lord can’t handle the sound of time. 

Rose finishes her run, showers, and gets dressed quickly, foregoing a full breakfast once again in favour of a granola bar. She is unable to eat like she used to, owing to the fact that she just doesn’t get hungry anymore, and she is thinner now than even she had been when she and the Doctor had arrived in this universe more than fifty years ago.

She imagines now that he’d be lecturing her on the benefits of a healthy appetite. And that the Globulins on Maripax 5 spend their entire lives starving to death slowly---at that point Rose would probably remind him that it might not be like that in _THIS_ universe.

Most of her thoughts _still_ revolve around him. 

What he’d do, things he’d say, and occasionally she even finds herself talking to him---as though the chasm he has left in his absence could be filled by his empty reply.

She also seeks solitude nowadays, even though Loretta has been her friend for nearly 30 years. They still spend time together, although Loretta now looks much older, since Rose’s friends from when she was young are all either elderly or have died by now--- another stark reminder that immortality isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. She now understands how _he_ had felt. 

She remembers how Dr. O’Brien hadn’t even _flinched_ when Rose had informed her that she doesn’t age. Well, she did work for Torchwood at one time, so she must have seen other inexplicable things...

_“So, Dr. O’Brien.”_

_“YEP! That’s my name! Me! Grace O’Brien,” she responds a little too enthusiastically, followed by nervous laughter._

_Rose finds herself smiling back at her, with a huge, tongue-touched grin, and she notices that Dr. O’Brien’s eyes widen like saucers._

_Gathering herself, Rose asks, “Would you mind telling us why you were out amongst our agents? What circumstances led to you being there?”_

_“Wellll….I have this machine that...detects things. Yes. It…..erm... dings when there’s stuff!”_

_Rose smiles again._

_“Is that the technical term?”_

_“Well, what did you want me to say, ‘jiggery-pokery?”_

_The smile fades from Rose’s face, and Dr. O’Brien tries to recover what she thinks she may have said to offend Rose._

_“Well, erm, I mean....I was in the area. I’m a bit of a freelancer, if you will. I’ve caught dozens of different kinds of aliens, then I send them your way! You all are much more skilled than I’ll ever be though.”_

_“But you accurately identified the creature we were apprehending as a Groske instead of a Graske. That takes exceptional knowledge,” Rose adds._

_Dr O’Brien, at this point, has not broken eye contact. It is as though she can’t tear her eyes from Rose’s face, and Rose herself isn’t even sure she wants her to._

_“I used to know a couple of Groske, they were maintenance workers at Torchwood in...erm...Uzbekistan!”_

_Loretta raises her eyebrow. “I didn’t even know there was a division there.”_

_“Oh, yes!! Big division there, in Uzbekistan. I ran the Torchwood division there during the day, and all the other times I looked after my goat farm! That was until the battle, though. The Cybermen showed up, and BOOM, all gone. No records or anything.”_

_Rose’s smile fades and she shifts uncomfortably, and instinctively, Dr. O’Brien covers her hand with her own, blurting out, “I’m sorry!”_

_Rose reflexively pulls her hand back. “Why should you be sorry?”_

_As soon as she pulls her hand away, though, she wants to return it to where it was, and she can’t understand why…._

Rose shakes her head, withdrawing from her daydream, and she wonders to herself not for the first time this morning if she’s losing her mind.

While she doesn’t outright dismiss the idea of being attracted to a woman since nobody even bothers identifying anymore, it had never happened before. It’s more the fact that she implicitly trusts and is _DRAWN_ to someone else, only a few years since losing him, which makes her limbs feel heavy.

It had been so strong, that Rose had all but _sang_ out an aria à la Andrea Bocelli that UNIT needed a new scientific advisor, and had practically begged Dr. O’Brien to join them.

When Rose finally goes down the stairs into work, Grace is there waiting for her, in the same sitting area where she had been the day before. 

Rose smiles to herself to see that she is fascinated by the model football field, and is examining one of the tiny model footballers in the palm of her hand.

Rose clears her throat to get her attention. “Um, Dr. O’Brien?”

Grace stands, albeit a little too quickly, and they grin at each other longer than what would be considered normal.

“Doc.....erm...I mean Grace! Please, call me Grace.”

“Ok, Grace. Please follow me and I’ll show you around.”

They walk together down a hallway next to the conference room where they had talked yesterday, when they reach a door with an ID card reader next to it. Rose swipes the card hanging from a lanyard around her neck, and the door unlocks.

After passing a clump of cubicles, they veer off to the left, where there is another security card reader, and after scanning her card this time, Rose presses her thumb to the plate as well. The door audibly unlocks at three separate points in the door frame, and they enter.

Along the wall of the very large room are dozens of glass enclosures of varying sizes. The smallest are the size of an average aquarium one might see in their dentists’ office, stacked one on top of the other, and the largest ones are walk-in-closet-sized. 

Nearly all of the enclosures contain an alien of some variety. 

Grace starts to rattle them off.

“Zygon, Raxacoricofallapatorian, Ice Warrior, Sontaran, a Balhoonian?? Whatd’ya have one of those for, they’re peaceful!”

Rose is quick to reply, “Psssh, not in this universe they’re not! Back in….well. Nevermind. Keep going, please! I need all the help I can get identifying some of these. We’re seeing activity lately like never before. And since the Doc--- I mean, my husband. Since he died, my brother and I can’t keep up.”

Grace takes her hand and squeezes, looking Rose straight in the eyes. “I understand. And I’m going to help all I can.”

Rose is inexplicably comforted yet again, and she squeezes her hand right back, and the weight of their eye contact holds like a lodestone--- neither can break it.

Finally, Rose withdraws, and then Grace continues, albeit visibly flustered.

“....Malmooth, Zocci…you can turn both of them loose...oooh a Stenza! Yes, keep an eye on him….”

Rose interrupts. “D’you see? I know most of these but not all. Your knowledge is...just incredible, Grace.”

She walks over to a clipboard hanging from the wall, removing it, and flips through it, explaining further.

“So, what we do from this office is process each alien, and attempt to send the peaceful ones back home. If their home planet has been destroyed or is otherwise determined as inhospitable or dangerous, it is possible that they are granted asylum, given perception filters, and integrated into society---”

Grace suddenly cuts her off, “Rose Tyler! I am _so_ pr--- I mean, erm… Dr. Tyler-Smith, I am...terribly _pleased_ that you have found a peaceful solution. Back in my Torchwood days, that wasn’t always the case.”

Rose smiles, catching her eye again, and she feels once again like she’s tumbling. She finally is able to get words out after a long moment.

“Rose is really fine. Please, call me that. I don’t like being addressed formally, especially from friends---” 

She turns a violent shade of red.

Grace responds, “I like that. Friends.”

Rose reaches out for Grace’s hand this time. 

“Grace, I feel like I know you. I can’t explain it. I feel like I can trust you, and for that to be a quality in someone who is going to be working very closely with me, I can’t tell you how comforting that is.”

Grace turns red, this time, but before she can respond, Rose speaks again.

“Come on, I’ll show you the office area.”

They step out of the containment area, and walk back down the hall to the clump of cubicles, and Rose approaches a brunette in a lab coat whose back is turned. The person takes a rapid puff of an inhaler before Rose taps her on the back.

“Paula? I’d like you to meet Dr. Grace O’Brien, she’s our newest scientific advisor. Grace, this is Dr. Paula Ryan. She is a scientist and works here closely with some of the aliens we process.”

Grace’s face breaks out into another huge grin as she shakes Paula’s hand and says, “You wouldn’t happen to be a relative of a certain Petronella Osgood, would you? You could be twins!”

Paula giggles, “You knew my gran? Well…I suppose I look like she once did. And I’m not surprised you knew her, she travelled quite a bit. She loved this job. I’m so pleased to meet someone who knew her. She was...the bravest person I ever knew. We lost her last year.”

Grace’s face falls, and she squeezes Paula’s hand this time. “She was also absolutely amazing. An utter genius.”

Paula lowers her head, as tears form at the corners of her eyes. “Yes, she was...thank you.” She sniffles.

Rose, thoroughly touched at Grace’s kindness, cuts in. “Come on Grace, I’d like to show you your office.”

“I get an office? Really? Ooh, does it have a desk?”

Rose giggles, linking her arm with Grace’s, and the two women set off again together towards the back of the building. She decides then and there to fit in as much “training” as she possibly can, if only to delay the end of the day.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please leave a comment telling me what you thought. ❤️


	4. The Ghosts That We Knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am glad to finally get this chapter out, and I'm sorry it's taken as long as it has. I'll be honest, it's been a really hard month. Fortunately I have been able to get back into writing again, so I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> I'm putting a *TRIGGER WARNING* on this chapter for an anxiety attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist tracks:  
> "The Ghosts That We Knew"~ Mumford and Sons  
> "Let it be Me" ~Ray LaMontagne

_You saw my pain, washed out in the rain_   
_Broken glass, saw the blood run from my veins_   
_But you saw no fault, no cracks in my heart_   
_And you knelt beside my hope torn apart_   
  
_But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view_   
_We'll live a long life_   
  
_So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light_   
_'Cause oh that gave me such a fright_   
_But I will hold as long as you like_   
_Just promise me we'll be alright_   
  
_So lead me back, turn south from that place_   
_And close my eyes to my recent disgrace_   
_'Cause you know my call_   
_And we'll share my all_   
_And our children come and they will hear me roar_   
  
_So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light_   
_'Cause oh that gave me such a fright_   
_But I will hold as long as you like_   
_Just promise me we'll be alright_   
  
_But hold me still, bury my heart on the coals-_   
_And hold me still, bury my heart next to yours._   
  
_So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light,_   
_'Cause oh that gave me such a fright_   
_But I will hold on with all of my might_   
_Just promise me we'll be alright_   
  
_"But the ghosts that we knew made us black and all blue_   
_But we'll live a long life_   
_And the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view_   
_And we'll live a long life~_

  
  
  
  


Rose can _feel_ them coming on, now.

Approaching. 

It’s as though all of the colour slowly drains from the world, swirls together into a hyper-pigmented mass, and is suddenly swallowed up by a hole at her feet like bath water.

First though, come the warning signs prickling up, as though ridging along the spine of a frightened animal. They come on so slowly nowadays, they almost go unnoticed.

The irritability.

The little things, bristling on the outskirts of her mind. She is avoiding people; hiding out in her office so as to not jump down anyone’s throat if she can help it. The aversion to conversation, the repulsion towards making eye contact, and the need to self-isolate have taken centre stage. 

The world begins to melt away--- like it’s been out in the sun too long, steam rising in its wake. All that’s left of Rose now is a cracked, drab yellow-gray, like in surrealist paintings where everything is warped and twisted. 

Time disintegrates.

Gnarled hands pull her under--- but her consciousness sticks out like a nerve, exposed, as the rest of her bleeds into the scenery.

Eventually, she can feel her heart pounding in her ears, throbbing through her ear drums like a kid in a cheap car with a cheaper sound system, speeding through a tunnel. Her watch alerts her to her raised heart rate--- as though the cold sweat on her forehead wasn’t an indication.

There is always a point at which the dam ruptures, and she has to finally give in to the inevitability, turning the light off in her office and shutting the door. She has told those in the cubicles outside that these “breaks” are because of migraines, which most people seem to believe.

Being a sufferer of these since she had lost the Doctor at Canary Wharf all those years ago, and subsequently dealing with all the trauma associated with being blasted through the Dimension Cannon, these attacks had only multiplied exponentially after he was gone.

He used to be able to talk her through them, even if she’d had a tendency to push him away in the midst of her crisis. She would tell him that he didn’t deserve to have to put up with her during these--- which was, of course, a defence mechanism employed by nearly all people in these situations.

He simply wouldn’t listen, though, refusing to leave her. 

So after banishing him to another part of the flat, she would lie and tell him she wanted him to buggar off--- something that in itself was an outright lie and also completely true. If she yelled loud enough, he would simply step out of the room.

Feeling at once relieved he was gone and feeling too alone without his presence, the event would eventually pass, and she would open the door and find him sitting on the floor in the hallway. If the calamity of the attack had lasted long enough, he would occasionally have fallen asleep, lying on his stomach, head near the door where he could remain cognizant of the pace of her breathing.

Eventually, she had assimilated his own methods for keeping the majority of the Time War-related attacks down. Although, he’d conceded, this had been much easier when his brain was fully Time Lord. Still, gaining Rose back permanently had nearly stopped his own paroxysms altogether.

The telepathy helped, of course. 

The benefit of having a full telepathic bond with another person is that it allows one to ground themselves on the other’s emotions. The non-afflicted party (usually the Doctor), would always attempt to use their bond to siphon off Rose’s anguish by sending the warmth of his sentiments over their connection.

But now, Rose finds herself alone again. 

Her psychiatrist, Jen, had prescribed some pills to calm her down, but she found that these diminished her ability to see _him_ during the acute stages--- which was of course when she needed him most desperately. So, she’d taken the matter into her own hands and flushed them down the loo.

She catches glimpses of him, every now and then.

And when she comes to, minutes or even hours later, all she can remember is the _light_. His face, surrounded by a halo. A celestial body, in itself.

His image is a kind of amblysia to his inevitable dematerialisation, just as the grinding _WHOOSH_ of the TARDIS engines had announced its inexorable disappearance.

The ethereal glow of his softened expression, branded and burned to the underside of her eyelids. The crinkles in the corners of his expressive eyes, illuminating her path, and then fading.

Intangible.

She thinks, at that point, that the universe could at least grant her _THIS_. 

Allowing her to become immortal was one harsh blow, but taking _his_ immortality? It’s unfathomable that in the only moments she’s able to see him, touch him as though he is there, are in the tortured moments like this where she feels like she’s dying. 

She’s burning, the ravine that has been cleaved through her chest feeling like her heart is imploding. The vacuous hole left in its wake creating an event horizon not even a Time Lord could escape.

He’s still out there, she knows. Considering the nature of Time, she still feels his presence. She knows that they are still tied to one another, through their bond. As though their two separate souls have been tied together, existence after existence.

Infinitely spread across the cosmos. They have and will always come together, in the end--- in whatever capacity they could. The inertia itself of this inescapability is barely a consolation in these moments.

It is never enough to calm her.

Today, she knows that she has put off the inevitable long enough. She stops attempting to distract herself with work and papers, and she stands on wobbly legs, hands trembling. She closes her door, turns off the lights, and collapses on her sofa. She curls her body around a large cushion, wrapping her arms and legs around it for stability, bracing herself for the downfall.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

  
  


The Doctor, in spite of herself, cannot quite believe that she is here, and that she has managed to finally score an office to herself at UNIT.

“It only took two thousand years,” she mutters to herself, bitterly.

Sitting on her new purple sofa, she is currently trying to hide her sonic screwdriver behind the screen of her new UNIT-issued laptop computer, attempting to program it to do what she wants without alerting Rose or any of the buffoons in the IT department.

Hacking into the CIA and MI6 databases numerous times before, and having of course alerted the authorities, she thinks it better to keep this universe’s versions of these organisations off her tail, as this would just complicate things--- especially with a sick TARDIS.

She is quite enjoying the anonymity that comes with being a nobody in this universe, but she thinks that being mistaken for just another human amongst the rest of the UNIT employees does have its disadvantages.

For one, she did not particularly enjoy being forced to go through sexual harassment training earlier that day as a condition for her employment.

She remembers with poignant irritation that only _she_ could have been so naive about the whole thing to have asked Rose why she was being trained to sexually harass people. Rose had nearly died laughing, but then had hastily retreated to her office, as she’d had an urgent matter to attend to.

The Doctor smiles with pride, remembering the diligent notes she had taken during the training, being sure to use bright yellow highlighter to emphasise the part that proclaimed it inappropriate to compliment a coworker’s bum. She had made a point to keep this in the back of her mind, especially considering this practise is good manners on some planets.

She puts her hand into her coat pocket and pulls out a tangled lanyard, complete with a very professional-looking badge on the end. Looking it over, she is once again quite impressed with herself, being official now. Her photo makes her look a bit like a Zolgreff in headlamps, but all in all, she is very pleased to not feel the urge to whip out her psychic paper in a place where she knows no one would fall for it anyway, due to mandatory psychic training.

She is just opening her very own email when she starts to feel slightly irritated that it has taken this long to make any headway with this ridiculous company back in the other universe.

They certainly hadn’t done themselves any favours by putting her off. Not even giving her an office, or so much as a bloody _desk_ was not only insulting, it was truly degrading. Considering the amount of time she had spent preventing that idiot Brigadier from blasting bullets at every alien race they had come across…

The Doctor suddenly realises that she feels quite warm, so she puts her laptop aside and wriggles out of her coat, casting it onto the floor. She begins fanning herself with her sexual harassment booklet when she also notices that both of her hearts are pounding like crazy.

She decides that whatever is ailing her should probably pass quickly, so she attempts to distract herself by opening the booklet, and starts reading the _“No inter-office sexual contact”_ section. Without warning, she launches the booklet against the wall with a frenzied _SMACK,_ and then the terror rips through her chest almost as rapidly.

She stands up with such clumsy force that her laptop falls to the ground with a _clunk._

It hits her with the impact of a train.

_Rose._

>>>>>>>>>>>>>

  
  


Rose shudders, as the laboured breath starts again. The pressure beneath her ribcage expands until it feels as though her heart is being pulled out. Heavy, like lead, the cataclysm blasting through her synapses, coupled with its inertia causes her to clamp her hands on her head.

It’s in these moments that she is most aware of that missing connection. The howling void within her mind, hanging bare like a door that had once led her _home_ \--- ripped from its hinges.

Not today. 

_No._

Not with tonight’s events to look forward to--- something _good_ , for _once._ This shouldn’t be happening today. If this was bad enough, she’d have to cancel, as she’d be ruined at least until tomorrow. 

The irony was almost as heavy as the weight of her terror.

Just then, a knock on her door thunders in her head so loudly it brings pain along with its reverberation. 

They should _know_ better, by now. 

She’s been the head of this organisation for decades, and not bothering Rose Tyler-Smith when her office door is shut is a _given_ around here. This is especially due to her tendency to throw things in her anger, the latest object being a framed photo of her parents. 

That one had put a dent in her wall, but the resulting guilt in the act had been worse.

Not an angry person by nature, the other employees know that in the rare instance when Director Tyler-Smith is out of sorts, that she should be left alone at all costs.

_“Can’t you see that the lights are out?”_

She fades in terror and darkness then, stumbling off of her sofa and down to the floor on all fours. Her extremities tingling, she grasps for her phone, which has tumbled away out of reach.

The golden light envelops her, eclipsing her senses. 

It is _HIM,_ far in the distance. He’s turned around, hands stuffed in the pockets of his pinstriped trousers. She cannot get to him fast enough, and her arms and legs seem to weigh ten times what they normally do.

Any moment now.

The seconds pass both in an instant and excruciatingly slow at the same time...she is going to wake up, she knows it. It will be over, and he will be gone.

Closer and closer.

She outstretches her hand as she approaches him, even though her arm now weighs as much as a bus. He reaches out to her, and she grasps at it for dear life. 

However, the moment she touches his hand, he lifts his head, and his features dissolve.

Leaving…

Grace?

Plunging into the darkness on the other side, Grace clutches Rose’s hand and pulls her through. As though surrounded by an aura, she smiles at Rose, and the image melts away completely.

Several moments later, Rose comes to. 

Before opening her eyes, she recognises that her head is in someone’s lap, and that person is gently sweeping her hair away from her sweaty face. She opens her eyes and looks up to see Grace.

Rose is surprised that she apparently hadn’t been dreaming that last bit. 

She then notices that Grace herself is in a bit of a state, too. She’s panting slightly, and Rose wonders how she’d managed to get herself in here in this condition. She also wonders how Grace _could_ have, as though she had been able to intrinsically read that Rose was in pain.

She figures that the confusion must have been evident on her face, when Grace finally chokes out what she needs to say. 

“Rose...we need to help each other through this.”

Rose reaches up and grasps for her hand, and as she sits up, Grace closes her eyes and scoots back, leaning against the desk, and Rose crawls over and sits next to her. She reaches over to take Grace’s hand, and although neither can speak at the moment, they simply don’t need to.

As the two of them breathe in silence, waiting for the remnants of the painful event to at last fade, Rose feels her own heart begin to slow, as though some outside force is inexplicably stagnating its beats down to a steady thrum. 

As though Grace’s presence is a balm for her anguish, somehow.

It occurs to Rose that she hasn’t felt this safe in ages, and with that realisation, her entire body dissolves into wracking sobs. White, hot gasps rip through her body, which causes Grace to only squeeze her hand tighter.

In a moment of utter spontaneity, she turns and wraps her arms around Grace’s shoulders, and collapses against her. Grace encircles her with her own arms.

It takes a moment, then, to realise that Grace’s body is trembling too, although she can’t put her finger on why.

When Rose is finally able to speak, she pulls back and places her hand on Grace’s face, wiping a stray tear away, and she notices yet again how there is no awkwardness or shyness when she comes into contact with this strange woman.

“We make quite the pair, don’t we?”

At that, Grace’s body shudders slightly with laughter, and Rose reaches up on her desk for the box of tissues.

Grace puts her hand into her pocket then, and pulls out a broken chocolate bar wrapped in paper.

“Here... this will help, honest.”

Rose looks at her quizzically, and before she can ask why the chocolate bar hasn’t melted in her pocket, Rose asks “Like...in Harry Potter? That actually works?”

“Yep! Chocolate raises the dopamine level in your brain. And after all, the dementors themselves were inspired by the feeling of depression and anxiety.”

Rose breaks off a piece and starts to nibble on a corner, and smiles at Grace, gratefully.

“I guess you learn something every day.”

Grace smiles back and reaches for her hand again, giving it a squeeze. Her thumb brushes over Rose’s fingers, something Rose finds that she is terribly delighted to notice.

“Rose, what would you say to joining me for lunch? I know neither of us could possibly have much of an appetite at the moment, but I think once we get out we just might find something that sounds good.”

Rose grins, finally.

“That actually...sounds wonderful.”

>>>>>>>>>>>>

  
  


Half an hour later, the Doctor finds herself sitting in a sunny plaza, underneath the large tent of an outdoor seating area, surrounded by several restaurants. The fall colour has settled into the leaves of surrounding trees, creating a gorgeous orange and red canopy flecked with patches of blue.

Rose had, in complete character, chosen the best chippy she knew of. The Doctor, pretending to go use the loo, had sneaked around the corner and sonicked the nearest cashpoint, fully intending to pay the bank back with her first paycheck. Done with her days as a tightwad, she wasn’t about to let Rose Tyler buy her food again. In the commotion that had predictably attracted a crowd, she had woven through the pandemonium, back to their table.

Rose hadn’t even noticed, and had been diligently reading the menu, although she had assured her she’d been here “loads of times.”

Rose nearly jumps out of her seat when the Doctor pulls her chair back out and plops back down.

“Oof! Sorry, I got distracted. I'm... used to eating alone. Usually after those attacks I have absolutely no appetite, but I could eat my arm right now, if I’m being honest.”

The Doctor grins at her. “Good. That must mean you’re feeling better.”

Rose smiles back at her, so the Doctor takes her positivity as an opportunity to find out more.

“Rose...about the panic attacks. How long have you had to deal with them?”

Rose puts down her menu, looking out towards the plaza at nothing in particular, her smile fading.

“Oh...I’d say since I was about twenty-one or twenty-two. I...kind of ended up in this particular universe by accident. This isn’t my original universe. It’s a long story but it has to do with my husband. There was a lot of trauma involved with how we both ended up here.”

She looks at the Doctor again, eyes softening.

“So, what about you?”

The Doctor tenses up, jaw tightening, and she inhales sharply through her nose, forcing a smile.

“Oh, what do we want to talk about all this sad stuff for? Enough with the commiserating. Tell me what we’re going to do about the Groske? What is the normal protocol at London’s UNIT headquarters?”

“Well, we need to first round them all up. We have _huge_ readings for activity in the Croyden area, and several on a farm near Cambridge-- apparently they have been terrorising some cows with their teleports. One cow even ended up on the roof of a warehouse.”

The Doctor giggles, and as Rose continues, she finds that she’s concentrating less on Rose’s words, and increasingly more on the way Rose’s hair keeps coming untucked from behind her ear.

If she’s not careful, the Doctor imagines she might expire from sheer hypoxia, from which she’d wind up regenerating right there, then Rose would know exactly who she’s dealing with. 

“....so we’ll have to try to recruit all of them, the Groske. Because if they’re as technologically advanced as you’re saying, plus going by the displaced farm animals, we could certainly use their help.”

The Doctor stares blankly for a few moments, and doesn’t seem to remember when Rose had stopped talking, as she had been very busy studying the two small lines under each eye that she doesn’t remember being there back when she had travelled with Rose.

Rose giggles and clears her throat. 

“Erm...Grace? What did you want to order?”

The Doctor shakes her head vigorously, snapping out of it, and she looks up at the impatient server. She decides to throw caution to the wind and orders the first thing on the menu, the fried haddock. Rose orders her usual, the truffle salt and vinegar chips.

After the server leaves, Rose looks up again.

“Grace, what are you doing this evening?”

The Doctor’s hearts start pounding abruptly upon realising what Rose might be asking her.

“Erm...nothing! Why?” 

“I know it’s short notice, but tonight I am having a bit of a get-together at my flat. I’d wondered if you’d like to come?? It’s just a few people, and…”

“Oh yeah, sure!!” the Doctor blurts out, a bit too enthusiastically.

“...erm, I mean...yes, that would be nice. What time should I come ‘round?”

Rose smiles again, but adds a bit of that tongue-touched flair to it, and the Doctor’s quadruple pulse hammers even faster. 

“About 6, we’re having cocktails and then dinner, so come hungry.”

The Doctor returns a manic grin, and they stare at each other, both smiling like idiots, til the conversation turns back to work.

The Doctor listens intently to Rose telling about how they’ve started handling the Weevils, and how her husband, “The Doctor,” had demilitarised the entire establishment, insisting that the Weevils also be rehabilitated and employed. Rose adds that employees are now allowed to wear jeans and trainers on Fridays thanks to him as well.

They barely notice when their food comes, and when they are finally done, they head back to the office to work for the rest of the day.

...

  
  


“How can it not be six o’clock yet? My time sense is off, maybe the vortex in this universe is messing with me.”

The Doctor kicks one of the crystal struts, and continues pacing around the console room. For the last hour, she’s been here counting the seconds, attempting to pass the time the way that “normal” people do--- something she has never exactly been good at.

A small voice in her head screams that the real reason time is passing so slowly probably has more to do with the events of today and the _possibilities_ of the coming evening, and less to do with the time vortex, but she refuses to admit this to herself--- as usual.

“What’s a time machine good for if I can’t skip over the boring stuff?”

More pacing. Then something dawns on her and she stops.

“AUUGH! I forgot to get something to bring! What do people bring to these things anyway? Flowers? Chocolates? A blood sacrifice?...No, that’s on Klonarren-8, thank Rassilon. I guess flowers would be alright, don’t you think?”

She looks up hopefully at no one in particular, and of course gets no reply. 

Until suddenly the TARDIS doors open, indicating that the Doctor’s faithful companion both agrees that flowers would be perfect, and is telling her to stop kicking the struts and clear off.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

  
  


Sitting at her vanity, Rose puts the finishing touches on her look for the evening. A simple light blue cotton dress, coupled with her hair hanging about her shoulders in soft, golden waves. She keeps her makeup light and simple, unlike when she had been very young.

Looking at her face, she notices that she doesn’t even need anything added to achieve the blush tint at her cheekbones. Used to perpetually looking like a zombie, she’s unnerved to see this, especially considering the events of earlier today. 

Unable, and even _unwilling_ to put a finger on _why,_ she hastily looks herself over one last time and heads out of the room. The doorbell rings just as Rose is walking into the kitchen to check on the caterers.

She pulls open the door, and the sight in front of her alarms her until she realises just what she’s seeing. There is a person standing there with an armful of flowers, a massive teddy bear, and a glass bowl complete with…a goldfish.

Two legs beneath look like they’re carrying an entire flower shop, and the person attached to them speaks finally.

“These are heavy, Rose. Can I please come in?”

“Oh! Yes, of course!” 

She pulls the door open wide so that Grace can waddle in under the weight she’s carrying. 

Once Grace has managed to get through the door, she continues toward the kitchen, and plops the armful of stuff onto a counter. The water inside the fishbowl sloshes around and Rose feels instantly sorry for the poor fish inside, imagining that it must be a bit queasy.

“I wasn’t sure what to bring you, so I just got all of it! I didn’t know you could send a _fish_ gram, how lovely!”

“Well...erm...thank you! Thank you very much, Grace. Let me just get some vases for all the bouquets.”

Rose hurries over to one of the cabinets and pulls out six vases of different sizes and colours to accommodate the varying bouquets of flowers. Once she’s finished arranging all of them and adding water, she looks over to Grace, who is beaming at her.

“Thank you, again. They are beautiful.”

Rose gathers Grace up into a tight hug before she knows what’s hit her.

An energy current instantly transfers across the dimensional space between their two bodies, and Rose feels a tingling go up her spine. She feels like she’s _home._

She holds on, perhaps longer than she should.

The pull back, reluctantly, making eye contact. Rose watches Grace’s eyes flit back and forth from her eyes to her mouth.

Rose notices butterflies in her stomach at what Grace may be about to do--- and the most frightening part is that she _wants_ her to. Holding onto Grace’s small frame, Rose wonders what her soft mouth might taste like against her own, but then banishes the thought entirely, as preposterous as it is.

The moment is extinguished further when several other people enter the kitchen. Rose and Grace pull apart abruptly.

Rose clears her throat, turning red. “Erm...Grace? This is my niece, Liliana. She goes by Lily.”

Rose can’t help but feel her heart expand when her beautiful niece extends her hand to Grace. Grace takes it, grinning.

“Hello! I’m Th-- Grace! I’m Grace O’Brien. Lovely to meet you.”

Lily greets her, and Rose continues.

“And this is her fiancé, Adam. And this is my nephew Nathan, and his partner Tom.”

Grace shakes hands successively with each of the remaining dinner guests, with her usual contagious enthusiasm.

Just then, one of the caterers clears his throat and announces that cocktails would now be served in the sitting room, and everyone files out together.

After a pleasant conversation where Rose only half pays attention to Lily giving a detailed description of she and Adam’s upcoming wedding, her mind constantly straying to Grace and how their knees keep touching, the group is called to the dining room.

During the meal, Grace regales the group in a retelling of how she once had fended off a group of angry Sontarans by using a potato cannon, then of course laughing at the irony. She explains animatedly that she had built her “spud-o-matic” contraption out of plastic PVC piping, and using a fuse and some aerosol deodorant, she’d blasted potatoes at the back of the Sontarans’ necks, knocking them out cold.

Everyone is laughing, but Rose can’t stop looking at the soft crinkles in Grace’s cheeks as she smiles, making her eyes twinkle. An eerie familiarity washes over her in studying Grace’s mannerisms and excitement in the description of the encounter with the Sontarans. Rose quashes it down before it has a chance to surface, however.

At the end of the meal, the entire party says goodbye one after another, and Lily turns to Rose and hugs her. Loud enough for everyone to hear, she says “Blimey it’s good to see you smile so much, Aunt Rose. Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop- ok?”

Rose turns a violent shade of red, but manages to hide her face in the crook of Lily’s neck.

Then, the only person left is Grace.

“Thank you, again Rose. I feel honoured you included me. You have a lovely family, and a lovely home. It must be truly amazing, getting to live inside Big Ben. Do you get to go inside the very top?” Grace glances over at the spiral staircase in the corner of the open-concept room.

Rose’s stomach drops a little, and she swallows, looking down.

Grace immediately seems to realise those stairs are a touchy subject.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Grace folds her arms in, crossing them, and looks down, stepping back towards the door. 

“I should...I should go, I suppose.”

Rose blinks back her tears, inhaling sharply. She approaches Grace, and they share a quick hug that doesn’t carry nearly the warmth of the one earlier that evening.

Rose closes the door behind Grace, then she leans with her back against the door, crossing her arms across her stomach before she can come to grips with the fact that she’s alone, once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading, and please leave a comment if you can. I love keysmashes, heart emojis, anything. They are all a balm to my soul.


	5. Kiss the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am back! I'm sorry it took me so long again, I went on vacation, plus real life stuff has been heavy- as I'm sure it's been for everyone else. 
> 
> I am at a point right now that I really would like to go back to re-editing my Tentoo x Rose fic "The Dream of Atlas," so once I've got this posted I'm going to go absorb myself into it for awhile. It's a post-JE story, giving my version of what happens next for the Doctor and Rose in Pete's World. It's got lots of feels, lots of smut, and it's about to have a big dose of adventure:) 
> 
> I want to thank my fangirl friends for all the love and support, both with real life stuff and with my confidence in writing. You ladies are what's kept me sane since last winter, and I thank you endlessly for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tracks:  
> "Kiss the Rain"~Billie Myers  
> "Here with Me" ~Dido

Surface tension is defined as the tendency of liquid surfaces to shrink into the minimum surface area possible. The propensity of these molecules to attract one another instead of the surrounding air creates a barrier, which even allows insects to walk across its imperceptibly thin expanse.

Rose finds herself here once again, standing in front of that glossy stretch of glass and amalgam, chronicling the colour which pools in thousands of tiny ripples as the surface undulates like the surface of a pond at sunrise after a slight breeze.

This time is a bit different from the last, however.

Instead of having the source of light rise _above_ , the ‘sunrise’ in this case is on the other side, and it is blinding.

It is Grace.

That tiny sliver of surface tension is the only thing between them, now. Grace looks at Rose, that trademark grin pulling at her lips which crinkles the corners of her green eyes. Her bob-trimmed blonde hair acts as a sort of celestial halo, and she tucks one hand into the pocket of her long gray coat. 

Grace once again raises her other palm against the veneer smoothness. 

Rose follows suit.

Predictably, once their palms line up, Grace begins to back away, beckoning Rose to come through, and as before, this blooms an ember of vestigial nausea in the back of Rose’s throat.

She decides ultimately to throw caution to the wind, and gingerly plunges the rest of her hand and arm into the liquid dimensional plane. It is much colder than she’d expected, and she nearly has to fight for breath.

So far so good, though.

She gingerly steps forward, and is enveloped at once by the frigid, metallic mass. Abruptly, the centre of gravity changes, swivelling its pull straight into the mirror, which has now morphed into a vast ocean in the middle of which Rose finds herself perpendicular.

Alone.

Bobbing up and down, she thrashes and struggles, but she cannot break the force that is beginning to pull her under. She takes one last lungful of breath, and she’s engulfed completely by the water which has grown so cold, it feels as though it is puncturing her skin.

She fights the urge to gasp for breath, but she can’t fight it anymore.

The blackness overtakes her.

>>>>>>>>>>

The Doctor’s eyes suddenly fly open, and she’s gasping for breath, chest heaving. She’s on her back, hands splayed out and white-knuckled, attempting to grip whatever surface she’s lying on...clinging desperately to the cool membrane of... _something_.

Gathering her wits, she realises she’s covered in a cold sweat, and as her eyes begin to refocus, she nearly passes out in pure euphoria to see that she’s lying on the floor of the TARDIS console room.

She has absolutely no idea how long she’s been there, because it seems that her Time Sense has gone wonky in the midst of the still-spinning inertia of her disorientation.

She shakily sits up and crab-walks over to one of the pinkish coral struts, leaning her back against it. She realises that she’s been dreaming of the mirror again--- the one with Rose on the other side. 

However unlike last time, Rose had actually attempted to come through, but then her image had disintegrated like vapour--- _completely_ \---as a silent scream had overtaken her expression.

The Doctor’s breaths and twin heart rate slowly return to a normal _lub-dub-dub-dub_ , and memories of the events that had led up to this begin to materialise in her mind.

She’d left Rose’s flat the previous evening, and walked the twenty minutes or so back to the TARDIS alone. In the moment she had been about to open the doors, panic had begun to rise up her spine like a thermometer doused in boiling water. 

She remembers that she’d realised what had been happening, and hastily fumbled with her fingers to attempt to snap. Leaning heavily against the door, the TARDIS had become aware of her distress, and had gently opened for her before the fear had managed to overtake her completely.

She knows, of course, that once again this had been on Rose’s end, and that because she’d been blocking her from sensing her own telepathic signature so to remain undetected, she had assuredly been feeling the full force of _Rose_ \--- with no way of dampening it without physical contact.

She then recalls the specific events of last night. She’d mucked things up once again, because she _had_ to go and ask Rose what was at the top of those spiral stairs, curiosity of course winning over as her trademark quality her entire life. 

But this was apparently Rose’s _achilles heel_.

The Doctor had always had the tendency to feel guilty about causing pain for her friends, even if it was never premeditated. But when it came to Rose, being able to actually feel her pain in an acute and all-consuming manner through the bond, all while knowing her own stupidity had been the trigger is now nearly too much to take.

Predictably, the old self-loathing begins to boil up. After the Time War, of course, it was at its worst, especially in the years during which the Doctor had carried the entire weight of Gallifrey on her conscience. But causing a trauma response to Rose Tyler vs. the remorse of a war plus a planet full of tyrannical overlords in dodgy collars?  
  
Equal stakes.

She decides again that the quicker she can retrieve those hairs the better, so to remove herself from Rose’s life before she has the opportunity to do more damage.

Feeling fairly certain that the room at the top of the spiral staircase had been where her counterpart had spent most of his time, she decides that just forgetting about the useful contraptions that are certain to be up there is in her best interest at the moment, if she wants to get close enough to Rose to get the sample and test for anomalies.

As long as everything goes as planned, she should be gone from Rose’s life permanently within the week.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

  
  


Sitting at her kitchen table working on UNIT documents, this is where Rose normally finds herself on a Saturday morning. Papers spread about, and the remaining gulp of coffee she had made hours ago has been left cold and forgotten in a _“Trust me, I’m a Doctor”_ mug.

She’s searching the UNIT databases for a species similar enough to the Groske and their cousins the Graske that it would permit her to do a detailed comparison. A comprehensive analysis such as physical features, planet of origin, telepathic ability, exceptional powers, temperament, and other characteristics could potentially help round them up before they cause any more problems (or teleport any more livestock).

However, Rose’s mind keeps drifting to Grace.

The way her eyes crinkle in the corners when she laughs. Her manic energy. The way she scrunches up her nose when she’s concentrating. Her tendency to ramble almost incoherently when she’s excited about something. How she is a constant flurry of movement.

Rose tries to push these images out of her mind, but it’s like attempting to budge a sleeping rhinoceros.

Then, in an act of ludicrous irony, she hears a soft flutter and click coming from behind her. She turns to see that the formal wedding invitation that had been stuck to the refrigerator had fallen to the floor, along with the magnet that was supposed to be holding it fast.

She picks it up, looking apprehensively at the envelope, addressed to _Doctor Rose Tyler-Smith and Guest._

The last two words, however insignificant to an outsider they likely would be, to Rose they're capable of unravelling the very fabric of her entire mental state.

_...and Guest._

While Lily’s concern up until this point had been admirable, Rose has grudgingly been forced to face the reason why she’s not anticipating the event.

She always used to go to weddings with _him._

He hadn’t been one to spend the entire night on the dance floor, but he’d always gathered a crowd with his ridiculous antics. His manic energy. The way his eyes would crinkle at the corners…

Suddenly Rose’s stomach begins churning, and she leans against the kitchen island and closes her eyes, remembering.

He’d grab her hand and pull her close any time a slow song would come over the speakers, pressing his lips to her forehead, swaying with the music. He’d let his contentment glow over their telepathic connection, along with his _want_ , stirring that _burn_ deep within her belly. 

Her best friend, her plus-one.

The separation after Canary Wharf truly had nothing on this. Like a cavity, the emptiness in her mind would always be a negative, now. An absence. A gap that could never truly be repaired.

Sure, she could patch over it, fill it even. But the hole would still exist, underneath.

She puts the invitation back under its magnet on the refrigerator, and haphazardly glances over at Grace’s little orange goldfish, still sitting on the kitchen counter.

She approaches the curved exterior, placing her hand on the thin membrane of glass, which is the only thing separating her fingers and the tiny creature’s searching mouth. 

Alone in there, true, the little fish may be. But the prospect of forgetting nearly everything?

Extremely tempting, she had to admit. All that pain, trauma, and loss...gone.

Ignorance is bliss, so they say.

Her mind flips automatically to her dream from the previous night, alone in that ocean...desperate Grace would come and pull her out of the depths with her embrace, as she had yesterday.

She can’t stop the images, now. The feelings crash over her like a tsunami, and she wonders not for the first time lately what being close to Grace would feel like--- _allowing her in_. Allowing herself to fall and to be loved again. And with a _woman,_ remarkably.

Well aware that becoming emotionally compromised would be a serious misjudgment on her part, Rose’s anger at outliving absolutely everyone is yet again full of nearly farcical irony.

She returns to her seat at the table, her hands shaking.

Her heart starts racing once more, she swallows thickly, and suddenly everything she has ever known about herself is _false._

_No. This is ridiculous._

As endlessly empathetic as Lily had always been, Rose sometimes finds herself wishing her niece and dearest friend wouldn't possess the ability to read her quite as well---so that Lily wouldn’t feel Rose’s pain quite as acutely.

Of course the invitation stares at her in mocking juxtaposition any time she walks into the kitchen, so she’s become very good at averting her eyes, but somehow still feels too guilty to take it down.

She huffs in frustration, and pushes the utter preposterousness of the idea that is _almost_ entering her mind away. Having no patience in her old age for childish fantasies including whirlwind romances with strange women wearing braces, Rose stomps into the living room to her multidirectional treadmill, logging onto the interface on the touchscreen.

She sees that as expected, Ross the massive protein wanker is online, probably attempting to chat up other women in their running group. But, Rose considers, he’s incredibly attractive, he’s a doctor (albeit the wrong kind), and she is tired of evading something that could have some potential, if she'd just get over herself. 

She convinces herself to think positive, and she opens the chat box where he has done most of the talking over the last few months.

_Hey. I was wondering… my niece is getting married next weekend. Would you like to come along?_

Ross fires back at near-breakneck speed.

_Yeah, of course I would! 😀 I have to be at the gym that day, 💪 but I can definitely go. Is this….like a DATE?_

Rose rolls her eyes.

_We’ll see. 😉 I’ll send along the details later._

She logs off before he’s able to say anything else. 

Ross’s inclination to either talk about his physique, his job as a neurosurgeon, or his Mercedes aside, he still seems like a nice person. And besides, their names almost match. Maybe it’s meant to be. She really should stop being so stubborn.

The only potential problem would be that Ross isn’t in on the inner workings of UNIT, so explaining things to him at some point might prove necessary, before anything would have a chance to get serious. 

(And of course, along with that, the threat of being retconned if he told anyone…)

She is drawn out of a trance when she hears an abrupt knock at the door. The sound chisels through her skull like a jackhammer, and she flinches.

Pulling open the door without even the foresight to look through the peephole, Rose nearly faints to see Grace standing there, hopeful look on her face.

Talk about _timing_.

“Erm...hello, Rose... I was wondering...could we maybe go for a walk or something?”

Rose opens her mouth to answer “yes” without thinking, but no sound comes out, and panic begins to rise up in her throat. Her entire body begins to blush, but she abruptly puts a stop to it, using the techniques that her therapist had taught her.

No.

_NO._

This couldn’t happen. Rose straightens herself up, flummoxed, and cuts off her emotions before she’s unravelled completely. To refocus, she zeroes in on the pain she knows she’d _inevitably_ end up in. 

Professionalism takes over, and she becomes stoic. However, the poised manner in which she holds her body does little to hide the flustered look on her face.

“I...I don’t think so. I’m sorry, I’m swamped with work, with these stupid Groske...I have files to go over. You know they’re causing problems all over, and I need to figure out...” 

The light in Grace’s eyes go out, and her shoulders go limp. She looks down, beginning to rub the back of her neck. “Ok, I’m sorry to bother you.”

Grace turns to walk away, and Rose reaches out on instinct, grabbing her arm.

“Grace…...look, I’m sorry. I don’t think we can be friends like this. I am your boss, and we need things to stay professional between us. _I need._..things to stay professional.”

Grace looks into her eyes, and they begin to glaze over, moisture forming at the corners, and Rose feels... _safe_. As if there’s a warm hand spreading out in the back of her mind, like ink dropped in water. 

It’s familiar.

It feels like _Time_. 

Rose can’t breathe. She lets go of Grace’s arm.

“I’m sorry, I have to get back to work. I’ll see you Monday.”

She closes the door before Grace can respond.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The Doctor bursts once again through the TARDIS doors, an air of extreme frustration in her face.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

She tears off her coat, tossing it on a hook beside the door.

“She _KNEW!_ She felt me. I let my guard down like an idiot and she felt me.” 

She strides over and leans against the console, checking the power fluctuation readings to see if any changes had occurred. At once satisfied the power levels had remained steady, and irritated with the current situation that the TARDIS isn’t exactly thriving off of this universe’s energy, she grumbles, hurrying to the power controls on a panel on the other side of the rotor. 

Dialling down a few things so to lower the maximum output needed, her fingers fly across switches and buttons. Mumbling to herself, she attempts to rectify the situation before things actually do take a nosedive.

“Hmm....ballroom lights probably aren’t necessary…and the pool likely doesn’t need to be heated to emulate the balmy temperature of the Vynosh Sea… _what else_? Put the other desktop themes in a more condensed file? I could even get away with deleting that one we were toying with using, with the disco ball? Oh but I _loved_ the disco ball! Ugh... _fine._ Sorry, Fam.”

Satisfied that the readings seem to be improving by flipping switches, she returns to her previous self-sabotage.

“Probably thought it was _him_ , contacting her from the dead or something. Wouldn’t put it past him, honestly. That incarnation had such a _gob,_ plus he was related to Donna. Rose probably wanted to _sell_ him at times.”

She flips the control room lighting switch, finally storming down the hall. 

“The sooner I help her figure out what’s going on with these Groske, the sooner I get closer to her and get those hairs. And then the sooner I can stop muddling in Rose Tyler’s life. I’ve already done enough, across multiple lifetimes to her and her family.”

Another lump begins to form in her throat. ‘Family’ is a term to her that has always had bittersweet emotions attached to it. These days, the _Fam_ would of course tell her that she had done nothing but positive things to Rose, but that’s what they were there for.

Ryan, Graham, and Yaz...the Doctor realizes all of a sudden how much she misses them, and that she could do with seeing their faces right about now. 

Graham with his warm smile and his soothing presence. Ryan with his strength and resolve. And Yaz and her expressive eyes, giving away everything that goes through her head--- particularly the force of her loyalty.

But could she really leave Rose Tyler behind again without destroying her soul? 

Doubtful. However, it had to be done.

The pain of the last time--- Rose kissing the Doctor’s counterpart. They had even been wearing matching colours. 

The memories are just as poignant as they were more than a thousand years ago, and her hearts squeeze painfully, forcing the air out of her lungs as she fully becomes cognizant of the inevitability. 

Finally reaching the gallery just before the vast TARDIS library, she passes through the portrait room, where framed paintings of each of her past incarnations are thoughtfully hung on the wall. 

Her fourth self flashes his trademark toothy grin, and readjusts his scarf. Her second self fiddles with his recorder, attempting to remove something stuck inside that is blocking the sound. 

Her immediate predecessor narrows his angry eyebrows, looking like a highly flustered owl dressed for a punk concert. 

“I obviously felt the need to paste pictures of myself all over the place when I was a _MAN_. How shallow is that? Who does that, honestly?..... A _sociopath_ , that’s who!”

She stomps out of the room and into the library, heading straight for the section on small creatures. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Once again, comments are what keeps me writing, and how I thrive creatively.


	6. Synapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know I've been gone awhile. And I'm sorry. But it's for good reason.  
> I've dealt with pretty debilitating depression and anxiety for most of my life, and it had been getting BAD in the last 6 months or so, so my doctor recommended I start TMS (transcranial magnetic stimulation) therapy. Well, I am happy to say that it has made a huge difference and I am soon going to be weaning off of the treatments.  
> If you have dealt with this too, please look into it. And get EXERCISE, if you can, because this is the other thing that makes a world of difference for me.  
> There is hope, I promise you. I am living proof of it. You are worth it, and the sun DOES come out. Find me on Tumblr and I'd be more than willing to talk to you about it.  
> I'd like to thank my pals on Discord for making a huge difference in my life, for never leaving me through all of this. You're the best friends I could ask for and I love you all so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist tracks:  
> "Closer" ~Kings of Leon

Stranded in this spooky town  
Stoplight just swaying and the phone lines are down  
Floor is crackling cold  
She took my heart, I think she took my soul

  
With the moon I run  
Far from the carnage of the fiery sun

Driven by the strangle of vein  
Showing no mercy, I'd do it again

  
Open up your eyes  
You keep on crying and baby I'll bleed you dry  
Skies are blinking at me  
I see a storm bubbling up from the sea

_And it's coming closer_   
_And it's coming closer_

You, you shimmy-shook my boat  
Leaving me stranded all in love on my own  
Do you think of me  
Where am I now, oh baby where do I sleep?

  
Feels so good but I'm old  
 _Two thousand years of chasing, taking its toll_

"So, what about...Balhoonians? They're the same colour, no? 'Razor-sharp teeth, shifty eyes, odd-shaped head, bluish skin, can sweat dangerous glaxic acid--' Hmm. Maybe not"”

The Doctor, still attempting to distract herself in the TARDIS library twelve hours later, is practically buried behind open books and papers strewn all about her. She's tapping a pen against her temple, and she can't seem to stop bouncing her knee despite attempting to cross her other ankle over it.

Becoming increasingly frustrated with her fruitless research, as she becomes confident that particular book can't help her, she tosses it haphazardly behind her. This is the point at which the TARDIS is kind enough to systematically teleport each book back to its proper place before it can hit the floor and create an even bigger mess.

The TARDIS herself is so grateful that the Doctor's research is cathartic enough to be a true-to-character form of deflection, so much so that at least she isn't ripping apart bits of _HER_ , so the ship doesn't mind giving the dusty-brained old Time Lord a bit of assistance.

"Ah! Okay, here's the Graske..."

At once, the Doctor springs up from her sitting position to a squat in her chair, looking much like a cat ready to pounce.

"The Graske are small-statured creatures who have pebbly brownish- orange skin, and three tentacle-like features on their heads. They have difficulty learning other languages, using odd grammatical and syntactic structure, preferring to instead create curt sentence fragments. They are from the planet Griffoth, in the Andromeda galaxy. Griffoth was once stolen by the Daleks along with twenty-six other planets, but safely returned, blah blah blah...The Groske….' _OOH!_ Here we go!"

She drops onto her knees onto her chair, leaning over her book and practically lying on the table on her belly.

"The Graske and their blue cousins the _Groske_ may have been cloned from Sontarans millions of years before they became civilised."

She looks up and scronches her nose.

" _Sontarans?_ Not quite. Not crazy enough. Not... _potatoey_ enough. Although, that would explain their shifty behaviour and tendency to blow things up, I suppose."

She has raked her hands through her short, blond bob so many times it is currently looking rather wild, and the manic expression on her face has become combined with exhaustion. Add in the fact that she hasn't eaten anything recently, and what's left is a mess of a Time Lord, considering the fact that the Doctor's innate ability to stave off both food and sleep only goes so far.

The problem here is not that it's a lack of knowledge in her brain that makes bringing information to the forefront utterly impossible, nor is it that she is by any means a slow reader.

It's her wandering mind.

Invading her brain are thoughts and images of Rose and the situation in which she currently finds herself. They are a neurological abattoir designed to methodically bludgeon every last trace of rationality and sense of self.

The Doctor knows she will soon be forced to leave Rose behind permanently, and her mind is every bit as scattered as a human's, making it necessary to read the same passages over and over, her hands useless birds flitting and fumbling across the pages attempting to grasp any phrase that will help her escape the inevitable.

A kind of amblysia. 

"The Groske are capable of smelling artron energy---' Yes, no kidding. I need some information I didn't already know. Ugh... _think_ , Doctor!" 

She leans back in her chair, stretching, and rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. Then she sits bolt upright, eyes wide.

_"Artron energy!"_

She leaps out of her chair, causing it to topple, and the table to wobble on its legs. Several books that had been lying open towards the edge of the table fall to the ground, and the TARDIS immediately teleports them back to their shelves.

"Doctor, you absolute numpty! Rose...the bond! Oh, I am such a moron!"

She stops, placing her hands on her hips and furrowing her brow, looking up and around at no one in particular.

"Well you could at least argue that point somehow instead of always staying mute on my various forms of self sabotage, you know! Get a TARDIS they said. It will be _FUN_ they said!"

She begins pacing, her attention brought back to the matter at hand. She continues raking her hands through her hair, crouching low and darting back and forth.

"But...how did it get across the Void into my universe? How could it have reached me? A telepathic bond even between two full Time Lords isn't strong enough for that, even though it's based on artron energy. So, if that's the case, what is that artron energy doing to Rose Tyler's DNA?"”

She picks the chair up off of the floor and places her hands on the back, leaning onto it.

"Rassilon, I have to get that sample. And the only way I'm going to manage it is by knocking her out telepathically."

She looks up once again.

"Yes, yes, I know. She's had decades of psychic training, plus a telepathic bond with a half-human metacrisis idiot to polish her resistance. Plus, this will go against everything I believe in. Although, Ada Lovelace needed it too, but safety over ethics. If this frayed telepathic bond is emitting this amount of artron energy, the Groske aren't going to be the only thing it attracts, you can bet on that."

She straightens up, eyes going wide.

"Pilot fish."

She swallows thickly, balling her hands up into fists. The timelines converge, and the endless possibilities come together before her eyes like a tangled roadmap, and her eyes begin to dart back and forth. That familiar prickle on the back of her neck causes gooseflesh to break out all over her body.

"What else is coming?"

She sighs and rubs her eyes with the heels of her palms.

Just then, another familiar sensation occurs in her body, along with its accompanying gurgle. The TARDIS nudges her to realise that dwelling on this problem is no good on an empty stomach, so the Doctor resigns herself temporarily, and slowly ambles down to the kitchen.

Finding some takeaway from several days ago, she sits at the nearby table and stares blankly while picking at her food. She's learned by now that her ship is well used to her constant rambling, so she rarely holds back.

Having a sentient being to practically share a consciousness with has had more advantages than could truly be counted, including the ability to figure out problems.

"So, when it comes to pilot fish, the most striking thing about them is the company they keep. Pilot fish are part of one of nature's most fascinating mutualistic relationships, guarding themselves from threats by tagging alongside sharks. And other fish know not to muck about with pilot fish, because they are aware there's always a shark not far behind."

She shoves another bite into her mouth, and chews before continuing.

"And of course the last time this happened, it was with Rose. Robot scavengers dressed as Santas came after my regeneration energy, and then a giant ship full of Sycorax showed up and tried to use blood control."

She starts snorting, nearly choking on her food, "--and I recited the Lion King for them." She cackles, remembering how cocky that incarnation had been. 

Then the smile disappears from her face just as quickly as it had appeared. That body had also been born out of love for Rose, and had loved her with reckless abandon. That Doctor had looked on the universe with new hope that Christmas, thanks in no small part to Rose herself, who had looked so beautiful that no holiday lights had even been necessary. 

But the light in her eyes that had been raging back then was now dim.

...

By the time Monday finally arrives, the Doctor is more than relieved. In her manic anticipation and dread, she has played six games of antigravity squash, and has managed to rearrange several of her junk drawer rooms, going through each item and asking herself whether it sparked joy. 

Fairly certain that the professional organiser lady Yaz had told her about was a certifiable genius, she'd managed to donate ten boxes of argyle socks to the Historically Accurate Golf Society, and four authentic codpieces and a rubber mace to the London Regional LARPing Society. 

Plus, she had completely repaired the _All-In-One Centrifuge, DNA Tester, Espresso Maker, Potato Peeler, and Fax Machine_ so that it would no longer take anyone's head off with a flying potato.

Living an entire weekend on the slow path had reminded the Doctor once again how _boring_ linear time can be, and until the moment she leaves the TARDIS to head to UNIT, the Doctor is feeling incredibly antsy, carrying the heaviness of what she knows she will be forced to do. Lack of sleep and inability to do so, even so much as a Time Lord catnap just adds to the problem.

At once looking forward to seeing Rose again and realising that this is likely the very last time does nothing to soothe her, and all of the weight ends up making her feel quite raw.

Entering the office after her short walk from the TARDIS, the first bit of business is to locate Rose, which is immediately able to do thanks to the traces of her telepathic signature. Rose is inside her office with the door shut, apparently in the middle of quite a tense meeting, judging by the pacing Rose-shaped shadow that can be seen through the glass and blinds.

The Doctor, frustrated by having to be patient even longer, stands outside Rose's office, hands shoved in her pockets. When she sees the door open again, she attempts to enter but Tony arrives just then with some gruff-looking UNIT soldiers--- all three with an air of extreme distress on their faces.

They enter Rose's office and shut the door, leaving the Doctor once again on the other side. 

Straining to hear, she casually starts to amble back and forth, pretending to use the copy machine before finally stopping to talk to Millicent, the surly-looking woman with the cubicle closest to Rose's office.

"So, Millicent, is it? Oh, that is _such_ a lovely hat. I heard you knitted it yourself out of cat fur! How many pets have you got again? I'm always forgetting."

Millicent's face instantly goes from irritated to positively _elated,_ and she begins telling the Doctor all about her cats Mr. Mews, Tiddles, Luna, Smokey, Hydie, Oxane, and Milka. The Doctor is also informed of the rabbits Fawkes, Olive, and Pearl; the dog Libby, and the lizard Spike.

Feigning interest aside, attempting to strain her ears to hear all the details of the apparently unnerving conversation going on in Rose's office is a bit of a struggle, so the Doctor attempts to inch closer and closer to the door without alerting her zoophilist companion.

Millicent thankfully is none the wiser, and she's regaling the Doctor in a tale of how Luna had vomited a hairball on the floor just that morning because she was apparently protesting the fact that the veterinarian had put her on a strict diet. Millicent continues, switching over to the story of how Spike had gotten out of his tank, alerting Fawkes, who had then escaped into Olive's enclosure, and now they would likely have ten baby bunnies.

Finally, Rose's office door is yanked open, and the Doctor quickly jumps out of the way so as to not get trampled.

Rose has a look on her face of extreme apprehension, and the Doctor attempts to catch her eye, but Rose will give her no such acknowledgement and closes the door once again.

After having gone back to her office immediately following Millicent's take concerning Mr. Mews' favourite bedtime story ( _Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh_ ), the Doctor decides maybe asking Rose to lunch would be a better idea.

A few hours later, she tentatively creeps up to Rose's office door and knocks. Rose is indeed inside, and she pulls open the door while putting on her coat.

"Oh! Grace, hello. How are you?"

Rose becomes instantly flustered, dropping her handbag on the floor along with her keys.

"Hi, Rose. I'm fine. Look, I was wondering---"”

"I'd like you to meet Ross."

A tall, very blond, very handsome man in his late twenties or early thirties opens the door all the way, and helps Rose pick up her things. He is lean and muscular, wearing an expensive-looking jacket and shoes, and smelling like a cologne factory.

Rose becomes even more flustered, and attempts to compose herself, but ends up dropping her keys again. Ross once again recovers them, then outstretches his broad hand to greet the Doctor.

They exchange niceties, and Rose attempts to break the tension.

"Ross...Grace. Grace...Ross," Rose says, mumbling. 

She then looks directly at the Doctor.

"Ross is my date for Liliana and Adam's wedding. Anyway, we're headed out for a quick lunch, then we have a bit of an emergency meeting at 1:30, so that more people can get here. I've just sent out an email, so you should get yours momentarily. Catch you later."

She and Ross hastily depart, and the Doctor's phone dings. Sure enough, it's a company email.

 _Staff meeting in the conference room at 1:30 sharp._ _-Director Tyler_

By the time the Doctor has finished reading it, Rose and Ross have turned the corner leaving nothing but Ross's lingering cologne smell.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Rose stares blankly at the last swig of coffee left in her cup, swirling it around so that the tiny bit of silt that has gathered at the bottom won't go unnoticed, and that all possible drops of caffeine will go straight into her bloodstream.

So this is why people hate dating random strangers. Not having done much of this herself, considering she had known both Mickey and Jimmy Stone from school, Rose understands now why people just flat-out refuse to do it, preferring to surround themselves with cats instead.

And then, of course, there was the Doctor.

Honestly, if he could see her now he'd probably be laughing his skinny arse off. She imagines him watching this entire debacle unfold from wherever he is in the great beyond, likely propping his Chucks up on the table, so that she has to yell at him and smack them away. He'd of course pretend to act all offended, then pout at her.

Imagining him as an ethereal figure as one of her coping mechanisms, what if this wasn't really that far off? Rose's mind wanders yet again to what she had felt when Grace had stopped by the other day...that familiar touch within her mind. She could almost smell him, and feel his warmth.

She has imagined countless times that he's been trying to contact her. Like believing something into existence, she walks a fine line between hopefulness and outright denial, to protect herself from disappointment. 

It's said that grief never goes away...not completely. That grieving is something that people just...get used to. You learn to live with it, and make space for it, instead of replacing it with something happy. Rose has found that this is terribly true.

She wonders once again if she'd been ridiculous when feeling that telltale warmth in the back of her mind. She is well aware that the fact that her soul has been hopelessly searching for his could result in her mind playing tricks on her.

She is brought reluctantly back to the present by Ross, who is clicking his fingers at her.

"Roooooose. Rose? You ok?"

Rose shakes her head vigorously and blinks, trying to rid her mind of the trancelike state. She smiles at him, but the warmth doesn't manage to reach her eyes.

"Yes...sorry. Just...didn't sleep well last night."

She stares at his keys lying haphazardly on the table, his _Gold's Gym Beverly Hills_ keychain sitting prominently on the others. Ross had been kind enough to detail exactly what he'd done during his recent conference in Los Angeles, which had apparently included being invited to exclusive nightclubs, spending time fending off hordes of women on Venice Beach, and going shopping at all the expensive boutiques.

Rose is surprised, at this point, that she hadn't yet regurgitated her lunch.

She becomes irritated with herself yet again for not giving Ross a chance, so she forces another smile, and she listens intently to his story about renting a Lamborghini and racing through the California desert.

Her attention doesn't last, however.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

An hour later, having no other choice but to attend the meeting and proceed as planned, the Doctor is sitting inside the conference room, clicking a pen nervously. About fifteen other people of varying ranks filter in, and finally Rose is seen outside the door with Ross.

The Doctor cringes when he kisses Rose on the cheek, but she's pleased to see Rose slightly flustered and visibly annoyed by this gesture before she sweeps into the room, heading straight for the front.

"Okay, good afternoon everyone. I hope you all had a pleasant meal. I've called you all here because we have become aware of a situation."

When she reaches the front of the room, she flips a switch, causing a holographic screen to appear, illuminating a map of London and the surrounding area. She sighs, pushing up slightly on the balls of her feet, looking around the room.

She avoids the Doctor's eye.

"You all have been working on the Groske case, but it looks like we have a much bigger problem on our hands. People in the countryside have been reporting a strong odour of ozone and sulphur, and several people have gone missing. This has all been occurring in the same small area. We've got people on-site searching, and it's about a five-kilometre perimeter outside of Buntingford, Hertfordshire. Two farmers, six of their employees, and three neighbours have seemingly vanished."

"The sulphur could be from a problem with sewage, why wouldn't they have called the police about this first?" Loretta McNulty pipes up from the side of the room.

"Well, they did, but it seems that there are a large number of Groske in the area. Plus the local cops kept hearing a high-pitched ambient pinging noise that kept getting louder as they climbed a hill. They said it was like they wanted to see what was at the top, but they couldn't look at it. Like something didn't _want_ them to look."

"A perception filter," the Doctor pipes up. Her hearts start hammering even harder than before, as she considers the implications of this. 

Something she has seen before, a long, long time ago.

"Yep," affirms Rose, popping the 'p.' 

The Doctor catches her eye, but Rose looks away just as quickly, turning red.

"The police also reported getting headaches the higher they went up that hill. It could be related to the perception filter, although I doubt it would be an issue for them, considering they haven't had any form of psychic training---"

"Evacuate the area. _Now_ ," the Doctor cuts in.

Rose's jaw clenches and her eyes flash, warningly.

"Excuse me, Dr. O'Brien. I believe that is _my_ call." 

The Doctor's collective anger flashes right back. She leans back in her chair and plops her feet onto the table in front of her, crossing them at the ankle.

"Sure it is. But this is no time for an ego battle. I'm telling you, evacuate. If whatever this is happens to be using a perception filter _that_ large, and people are getting headaches, there will be deaths soon if there aren't already. Someone is using a psychic weapon, literally taking over people's minds. I guarantee that you will soon find corpses with empty heads next. And I'm pretty sure that an effective zombie apocalypse is not something you want to have on your watch, Rose Tyler."

Rose, taken aback, refocuses before allowing herself to snap back. She straightens up and addresses the room.

"Fine. Loretta, please call the MP and local law enforcement in Buntingford. Have them evacuate. Everyone else is dismissed and you will await further instructions." 

A nervous hum of voices breaks out over the crowd, as people get up and gather their things.

As they filter out, Rose corners the Doctor and grabs her by the arm. A jolting tingle travels through the Doctor's shoulder and down her spine, and judging by the way Rose pulls her hand back, she's felt it too.

"Just who are you, exactly? And I want the truth."

The Doctor casts her eyes down. "I'm just here to help, alright?"

"Well, you can help by letting the more experienced person lead. I've been doing this for literal decades, and along with my late husband I've seen and done things you would never believe."

A crackling bolt of anger shoots through the Doctor's body, and she speaks before her brain is able to stop her.

"Well, it's nice to see that you've moved on so fast," she spits out icily.

In taunting slow-motion, Rose turns from white, to a violent shade of red, to tears forming in the corners of her eyes, causing the Doctor to wish someone would just finish her off. 

Rose's pain and anger strike through the current of the telepathic connection and hit the Doctor right in the chest.

"Rose, I'm so sorry---"

"Get out. Take your things, and leave. Go back to Uzbekistan or wherever it is that you were before. And get out of my sight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, before you sacrifice me to the angst gods and throw me into a volcano, I SWEAR things get better from here, and for every bit of pain these two have gone through, there will lots of making up. *COUGH*  
> And before you throw me into the volcano, please leave a comment because that's what ultimately keeps me writing and posting, knowing that it is being enjoyed.  
> xoxoxoxoxo


	7. Alea Iacta Est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! I have been very excited to share this chapter since I first started writing this fic, and it's so nice to finally get it out of my brain. 
> 
> I'm not sure if I will manage to get another one out before the holidays because it's still a busy season, even though things are different this year. I have a very excited 5 year old little boy to create magic for. 
> 
> I hope that somehow you find that magic, too, despite our circumstances. It can even be in the connection with faraway friends, cards, video calls (especially to the elderly) and any other expression of love that you can manage.
> 
> Please stay safe, please be smart and protect the most vulnerable of your (and my) loved ones. Have a wonderful holiday season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist tracks:  
> "Fade Into You" ˜Mazzy Star  
> "Thinking of You" ˜Katy Perry

From her vantage point on her bedroom floor, Rose can still _just_ make out the glowing traces of luminescence that had surrounded him. Melting and dissipating, the warm, ethereal light fades until the edges of her real surroundings sharpen.

_Bed. Chair. Table._

She stretches her fingers out and wiggles them, feeling something soft and plush between them.

_Carpet._

The rapid rise and fall of her shoulders and back decreases in tempo. Her extremities tingle less, the more she breathes normally, as oxygen filters back into her bloodstream. She feels as if she breathes too heavily, a cloud of regeneration energy might exit her lungs.

Wishful thinking, maybe. 

She suspects that if she had the ability to regenerate, this is unquestionably what the aftermath would feel like. At once sorry for the Doctor for having gone through it so many times, and deeply jealous that he came out of each one _renewed_ instead of simply _knackered,_ she instead focuses back on her senses.

Her heartbeat reverberates all the way through to her back, but as the minutes pass it thrums more slowly. It still beats with just as much resonating strength, however--- enough to nearly become hypnotic.

Sleep begins to invade her limbs and gravity betrays her, as though she is cemented in place, shackled in lead, unable to bear her own weight.

She's covered in sweat, and she's freezing, however too exhausted to move.

 _Then_ she remembers.

 _He_ had been in his TARDIS. Not his TARDIS…. _HIS_ TARDIS. The old one, when both of him had been one--- a full Time Lord. That old, dingy, wonderful machine that had once held all of Rose's hopes and dreams inside its labyrinthine expanse. 

The only place in the multiverse where she had ever felt truly at home.

But then, it had changed...morphed into some other TARDIS, but not his.

It had been beautiful, with pinkish gold crystal struts instead of coral ones. The centre console held another large crystal which pumped up and down, circuits and controls positioned all around it. The walls had the familiar hexagonal pattern, but still vastly different.

He had just been standing there next to the console, and reached out his hand for her, trying to coax her closer.

And then, Rose had gone blank.

No. There had been something else. He had changed...he had _regenerated_ , almost. But into what?

Too fuzzy. 

It's dissolving too quickly, like sidewalk chalk under the fall of rain.

The last thing that Rose had remembered though, was not what he looked like, because that had already faded.

He had handed her a _fob watch_.

A delicate timepiece with Circular Gallifreyan etched on the outside, looping and forming intricate cog-shaped designs all across the front.

When she'd clicked it open, alongside the standard clock one would normally find inside...

There had been a mirror.

…

Sometime later, Rose is awoken by gentle shaking on her shoulder, followed by a warm, familiar embrace, scooping her up off the floor and putting her into bed. 

She doesn't even have to open her eyes to know Liliana's presence as her niece covers her up and switches on the electric blanket.

She's out again in mere seconds.

...

Two hours later, she is awoken once again by someone setting an object on her bedside table. All she knows is that she is currently warm and happy, and that she can smell coffee.

She feels Liliana's gentle hand on her forehead, which is the only part of Rose that is currently visible other than the end of her nose.

"You're pretty warm now, you sure you're alright in there?"

"Mmmmm."

"Brought you coffee. Just how you like it--- so strong it might take care of that whole immortality thing."

The blankets shudder with a small giggle and a muffled response.

_"Fankoo."_

Liliana just sits there on the bed, patting the Rose-shaped lump buried under blankets and multiple pillows. Rose knows her well enough to realise she's going to say more, and she cringes, anticipating.

"I spoke with Grace."

Rose grunts, reaching out blindly for her spill-proof travel mug, snatching it back under the covers with her, rolling onto her side and tilting her head up to drink.

"She really didn't mean what she said, you know. I don't know what would possess her to say something like that, but I am pretty sure it has something to do with the way I constantly catch her looking at you."

Rose says nothing, but gulping sounds can be heard. She realises that Liliana isn't quite finished yet, and reluctantly restrains herself from snapping back.

"We still need her to be at the wedding for the added security with all this business happening north of the city. All hands are on deck up there, but there is still the chance of a problem. And Grace seems to know quite a lot about these Groske things."

Several moments pass before Rose lets out a surrendering sigh. Her niece is, of course, completely right once again.

…

Six hours later, Rose is checking herself over in the double mirror in her bedroom, turning this way and that, and feeling much better than before. Since that morning, she had enjoyed a hot bath, and then had started the process of getting herself ready for the wedding, as well as doing the hair of the bride herself.

As Matron of Honour, she had been told by said bride to just pick out whatever she wanted to wear for this black-tie event, knowing that in her many decades of Vitex galas and UNIT Christmas parties and other various engagements, her wardrobe had grown to warrant _three_ walk-in closets.

Not quite the TARDIS wardrobe, but still impressive.

Her dress for tonight's event is a blue-sequined evening gown with a halter top which then scoops down under her arms and behind her, completely exposing the definition in her back. 

This particular shade of royal blue--- had its decision been conscious or not--- is quite flattering and she is contentedly admiring herself when the doorbell rings. 

She manages to stop short of rolling her eyes and mentally scolds herself before heading down the stairs to the entryway. 

Ross's face when she opens the door is all the confirmation she needs that her look is a definite success.

He has predictably arrived in his Mercedes, and on the way to the venue Rose mostly ignores his mindless "mansplaining" about the mechanics of the car's engine. This is despite having helped design the Dimension Cannon and the fact that she herself could give him the mathematical equations that would turn this uninspiring, mundane civilian vehicle into a rocket and have it jump into another dimension. 

Not wanting to be the one to make his tiny head explode or be responsible for cleaning up the resulting mess, Rose just nods and smiles, vaguely pretending to feign interest in his boasting. Fortunately for both of them, they arrive at the venue, which is a fancy hotel just down the street.

Proximity to UNIT headquarters being a prerequisite for the majority of the wedding party, the necessity to have the entire event in one place outweighs that of having it in a more traditional manner in a church.

The added advantage is that with the name "Tyler" footing the bill, this couple could have had their wedding in Trafalgar Square--- and just to add pizzazz--- have it officiated by the ghosts of Sir Elton John and Fred Astaire in the style of a West End musical.

Rose and her companion arrive inside after the latter manages to reluctantly give up his car keys to the valet, and Rose smiles as she notices that the flowers and decorations Liliana had chosen have worked out beautifully, and all the varying colours of lilies, roses, and hydrangeas are nothing short of spectacular.

Once the ceremony is underway, her eyes well up as her baby brother walks his daughter down the aisle. Wishing her parents were here to bear witness to this moment, she has to look away momentarily to control the amount of tears rolling down her cheeks in an effort to not have to redo her makeup.

It's in that moment that she closes her eyes, and feels it...her mind swerving away, and that door opening.

Now there is a light breeze moving softly through her hair. She breathes in, slowly, taking it in.

She has chronicled this moment so many times, she finds she is actually able to _control_ all of the external elements, making them almost extrasensory. As though she can _taste_ every nanosecond. 

She recognises of course exactly where she is because she can _feel_ him there, even though this is nothing but a memory. 

As though the two of them make up an asometric binary--- two twin stars between which the fainter of the two makes itself known due to its gravitational pull on the brighter one.

She is also well aware that opening her eyes within this memory could unravel her composure and send her into sensory overload through a torrent of emotional responses.

She does it anyway.

She's back to that sunny day in autumn, so, so long ago, when she had been the one to wear a white dress. 

It had been a simple ceremony with less than twenty of their closest friends and family members. Her sapphire engagement ring had glinted in the sunshine and its accompanying band, etched on the underside in Circular Gallifreyan, was polished and flawless--- a stark contrast to how they look now.

On that day, the Doctor had taken her hands and wrapped them in strips of cloth made from a nearly-threadbare old maroon t-shirt only the two of them and Jackie had understood the significance of. 

The traditional handfasting ceremony had included her speaking her vows in English, and he speaking his own in Gallifreyan, with the accompanying translation provided to the guests on paper. 

The beautiful lilting intonation and soft syllables rolling easily off his tongue, she had understood the last part without needing help--- they matched those of the inscription on the underside of each of their wedding bands: 

_Until Time Unravels._

Brought gracelessly back to the present by her cue to help the bride navigate over to a set of unity candles, Rose rearranges Liliana's train and files quickly back to her place. 

She's half thankful for the interruption--- where her mind had been headed had not been at all conducive to maintaining a happy experience here.

She then looks up at the small crowd of people seated, and notices an empty chair between Loretta and a close friend of Tony's.

Grace has not come.

Inextricably relieved _and_ disappointed that her friend is either fashionably late or not coming at all, Rose tries to remember to breathe normally when the familiar emotional response to anything Grace-related happens to flood her nervous system, regardless of her harsh comments from yesterday.

Just after the bride and groom share a kiss and the room erupts in applause, however, the door bursts open and Grace steps in.

_...and she looks gorgeous._

She's wearing a very flattering yet feminine interpretation of a tuxedo, complete with a long coat, short cuffed trousers, combat boots, and a bow tie. Her hair is styled neatly, and she's wearing a smile that causes Rose's heart to nearly stop.

At that moment, Grace finally catches Rose's eye, but her grin fades and she freezes, seemingly put off by the elephant in the room. Rose lets a slow smile spread across her face until it's an all-out grin, tongue-touch and all.

It's Grace's turn to look like she can't get enough air, but she eventually smiles back, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

It's then of course that Rose realises that she and the rest of the wedding party are supposed to be filing towards the back of the room, so she hastily tiptoes as fast as her high heels will allow until she's caught up with the rest of the group.

...

Later, as the attendees all migrate towards the dining area, the usher shows Rose and Ross to their seats, which are at one of the head tables. Also at this table are Tony, his wife Leslie, their son Nathan, and his partner Tom. 

They are first served hors d'oeuvres, and Rose nibbles on her food without really tasting, searching the room again for Grace. She is nodding along mechanically to Tony and Ross's conversation about cars when she finally spots her in a chair next to Millicent, several tables away.

Grace looks as though she is hastily trying to find an exit as Millicent chatters away, probably about Mr. Mews' new outfit or Tiddles waking her in the middle of the night because he can see the bottom of his bowl. To Grace's obvious relief, Loretta joins them.

The meal arrives just as Ross is regaling Rose in his tale about water-skiing in shark-infested waters in Bali. After practically inhaling her meal, Rose nearly leaps out of her chair when the DJ announces that the bride and groom will be sharing their first dance, so she informs Ross that she needs to go take some photos to capture the moment.

As useless as these photos would be with six different professional photographers and videographers around, Rose still pushes this alibi, and her stomach flips when she walks past Grace's table and realises that she is watching her every step.

She takes a few 3-D holographic photos of Liliana and Adam, and then it's the rest of the guests' turn to join the couple on the dance floor.

Dread takes hold of her, and before she has a chance to escape, Ross sneaks up behind her and seizes her hand, pulling her onto the dance floor with him.

Forced to slow dance with Ross to "Every Rose Has its Thorn," Rose is again reminded how thankful she is that over the years of seeing mutilated bodies and gross alien secretions, her gag reflex has become much easier to control.

It is the point at which he whispers in her ear something about being willing to accept her into his life _despite_ all her "thorns" that she wonders how she is actually able to control her knee-to-groin reflex, but thankfully the song ends and she is released to scurry to the toilet.

After she's redone her hair five times, she exits the ladies' and sees Grace having what seems as the absolute time of her life on the dance floor. 

She's doing some kind of elaborate move where she's pretending to be a giraffe and swaying her arms from side to side over her head, and the children attending the wedding are crowded around her attempting to do it too, laughing merrily. 

The moment when Grace starts showing the children how to do the duck dance is when Rose realises that she hasn't seen an adult look so at home around children since…

She shakes her head, stopping the thought before it overtakes her, and she spends the majority of the next hour or so avoiding Ross by talking with some of her friends and relatives. She glances over during one of her conversations and sees that he is flirting with Liliana's bridesmaids, and she nearly laughs out loud at her glee that he's someone else's problem at the moment.

But then, when another slow song comes on, Ross looks dejected when several of the bridesmaids pair off with their dates, so Rose sighs, her empathy winning again, and she grabs Ross by the hand.

This time the song is "Fade Into You."

Just when Ross starts singing (badly) into her ear and she is mentally kicking herself for feeling sorry for him, Ross turns around when it seems that someone has tapped him firmly on the shoulder.

"May I cut in?" 

It is Grace, speaking in a much more demanding tone than really asking.

"Oh….erm...of course." 

Ross steps back, and before he has a chance to fully let go of Rose, Grace places one hand around Rose's lower back. As Ross moves away, Grace outstretches her other hand, taking Rose's and cradling it near her shoulder, caressing her palm with her fingers.

Rose winds her free hand around Grace's upper back, pressing her lean body to herself as though it is part of her that has gone missing.

A broken bit of iron, reforged.

Both remain silent for a moment, sighing and taking each other in. 

Soothed by the feel of the other, very slowly swaying to the music, they bask in the palpable charge in the air between them, as though the very electromagnetic field is affected by their proximity.

Rose is the one to break the silence as she watches Ross disappear into the crowd.

"Thank you, you have no idea what you've just done for me," she giggles lightly.

Grace smiles, the soft light of her expression spreading to her eyes.

"Just think of it as my way of apologising for being an arse."

Rose says nothing, instead she just puts her arm more firmly around Grace's back, pulling her in, and bringing her face closer. She can feel her soft blond bob tickling her forehead.

As they melt into one another, Rose relaxes completely, as though a balm has been poured over her. She can feel Grace's breath on her neck, and her entire body breaks out in gooseflesh, but she sighs again to cover up the obvious shiver.

Grace pulls her even tighter, and Rose shudders in sheer euphoria, her heart expanding like a balloon to the point where it causes a huge lump in her throat. It's pounding so hard that she can feel every beat in her fingertips and toes, and she's certain Grace can feel it too.

But she's not so sure she cares, anymore.

She likes pretending she can see time, the way _he_ could. She can imagine a timeline, in her mind, jagged edges spread about like lightning bolts, splitting and forking based on every decision made every second of every day. 

She knows, of course, that this moment is what he would have called a _fixed point_ , a moment that everything will hinge on. 

She could change her mindset, right now. Change her life situation, her solitude. Her resolve to stay away from falling ever again. From losing someone, ever again. 

She could just… _let go._

The other people in her peripheral on the dance floor cease to exist, as though someone has muddled with their proper timelines, one after another. Erased from history.

Rose begins to pull away to look into her eyes, but Grace isn't having it and just holds Rose tighter. She tries again, more forcefully, and succeeds. Grace's normally green-brown eyes are nearly black in the low light, plus they are added with a look of subliminal _desperation_ so intense it nearly makes Rose's knees buckle.

It's almost a look of... _sorrow._

She rests her forehead against Grace's, and softly nuzzles back and forth. Pressing her cheek against hers, both begin breathing deeper, in anticipation for what each of them apparently knows will come next.

Rose then feels Grace's hand come up and sink into the back of her hair, and their lips are hovering millimetres apart. Somehow in their trancelike state, the button on Grace's coat sleeve manages to catch a few strands of Rose's hair.

Grace giggles lightly, "I'm sorry, looks like my sleeve is caught in your hair. I think I've got a few souvenirs there." 

Instead of wasting time trying to loosen the handful of strands that are caught, Rose just cuts to the quick and pulls them directly out of her scalp, and puts her cheek back against Grace's after some awkward laughing.

Grace's breath is on her ear, and Rose feels the tip of her nose trailing lightly across her cheek, towards her mouth. 

Her skin is made of paper, translucent, and oversensitive so that every square millimeter catches fire and liquifies on contact. Her legs become wobbly and for a moment she feels as though she will have to lean on Grace for support.

An aching _throb_ forms low in her belly, and it's so foreign these days, she hardly recognises it.

They each pull away, looking into the other's eyes again. Grace's eyes are rimmed with moisture and she casts her gaze down to Rose's mouth, then back up to Rose's eyes…

Grace freezes, her entire body becoming stiff, her eyes wide with shock, and she inhales sharply. 

In the nanoseconds leading up to something catastrophic happening, there truly is a collective _inhale,_ of sorts. The very pressure of the air changes, and windows flex inwards.

In slow motion, Grace throws her arms around Rose, wrapping her body possessively around her.

All of a sudden there is an enormous BOOM that rocks the entire building, shattering several of the windows and causing the tables to shake so violently, many glasses and plates crash to the ground. The DJ's speakers topple, shorting out several of them.

The once happy ambiance is instantly broken, and the DJ cuts the music coming out of the remaining speakers. Predictable chaos ensues, with people running around, trying to locate the members of their families that had previously been enjoying the evening. 

Rose looks over to see Tony already on his phone, shouting over the noise. Rose runs to the table where her phone is inside her handbag, and in unison, she and everyone else in the room on the UNIT payroll all receive an alert on their phones, along with directions to head immediately to headquarters and suit up.

Rose looks at Grace, who has the hint of _excitement_ on her face, but it fades as quickly as it had appeared.

It's the same exact same excitement Rose herself tries to stuff back down her throat every time something like this happens.

Tony approaches, his brow furrowed, coupled with his eyes rimmed with red due to being slightly inebriated. "It's the Groske. I'm in no condition to go, Rose, I'm sorry. I'll find out more information and get it to you within fifteen minutes."

Rose nods and reaches out, squeezing her brother's hand.

"Don't worry about us, just get yourself home safely."

As one, Rose and Grace run out of the room together into the lobby area, past Ross who is apparently oblivious to what is going on and chatting up yet another girl.

Rose rolls her eyes, and she and Grace breeze past him and finally reach the exterior doors.

The blast seems to have come from the direction of Big Ben, although thankfully the source is a bit further than that, so Rose starts to run as best as she can in her heels. On instinct it seems, Grace grabs her hand, half supporting Rose's weight as she hobbles along.

Finally, after what seems like ten kilometres of misery for Rose and companionable silence between them, they reach UNIT headquarters where Rose presses her thumb to the pad outside the door, and a robotic voice asks for voice identification, for which she reads a series of random words shown on the screen.

The door clicks unlocked, and they both enter.

Inside the large storage closet and armoury, dozens of UNIT soldiers are already in their uniforms, and are putting on gear--- bulletproof vests, shin guards, the telltale red berets, and are arming themselves heavily.

Grace stops, panting a bit, and looks directly at Rose.

"Are you ok?" she asks pressingly, squeezing her hand.

"Oh, I'm always alright, me. Come on then, we best suit up. Your gear is in the wardrobe in your office. I'm going to do the same and I'll see you in a few minutes."

Rose enters her office and closes the door, opening the locked wardrobe near her desk. While she's putting on her gear she watches the holographic recording of Tony detailing the current situation, in which he informs her that indeed, it had been one of UNIT's administrative buildings that was destroyed.

When she's finished, she exits to find the rest of the group still in the armoury.

Grace is also there, exactly as she had been a few minutes ago.

"What are you doing? Oh don't tell me, another scientific advisor who refuses to follow the rules. You're just like my brother." 

_"...and someone else... "_ she adds under her breath.

"I'm not the soldier type, Rose, and I never will be," Grace says firmly.

"Alright fine, but it's your neck."

She then turns to the rest of the group and raises her voice so that everyone can hear.

"Alright everyone, gather round please! We don't have much time. I just got word from Tony that it was indeed our administrative building on Parliament Street that was bombed. They're working with the fire company to control the blaze, but it seems that several Groske were seen in the area just after the blast, but they immediately teleported. We can conclude that since they blew up an empty building on a Saturday night means that they only wanted to draw attention, and not actually kill anyone. We also know that the Groske are working with another unknown race."

A tall, lean young man interrupts.

"So... we're basically walking into a trap then."

Rose softens her expression, but doesn't lower the level of authority in her voice.

"No more than we always do, honestly, Josh. We're heading north to the farm outside of Buntingford to see if we can identify this race and attempt to talk them down."

Rose gestures to several members of the group.

"Five of you will be working with the bomb squad at the site of the explosion, and the rest will be flown north by helicopter. Your direct commander has been sent further instructions. We do need to get out of this building as soon as possible, in case our assumptions are wrong, so please hurry."

As everyone is filing out of the room, Rose takes Grace aside.

"I need you with me, your expertise on the Groske is going to be important."

"Rose Tyler, I wouldn't be anywhere else."

…

Ten minutes later, two helicopters full of UNIT personnel lift off from the roof of the building, and Rose's nerves are shot already. Mixed with her excitement is the stabbing pressure from the familiar worry about what they're heading into.

And even heavier, every time this happens, is the fact that it's yet another alien incursion without the Doctor. Rose's jaw tightens as she watches the London skyline pass by.

Grace, who is sitting next to her, senses Rose's distress so she reaches over and takes her hand, holding it in both of her own.

Rose considers mentioning that Grace should wear gloves since her hands always seem cold and it's autumn, but she's noticeably calmer now, with Grace's hands around hers, so she stays mute on the subject.

When the helicopter finally touches down, the passengers are suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of sulphur the moment the door opens.

Police officers are already waiting for them next to a fence at the foot of a large hill, and one approaches and immediately demands answers from Rose, to which she gives an abbreviated response. She informs them all that they are to go no further than the fence as this was now UNIT business. 

She then instructs the rest of the group to get into formation and to switch on the psychic override mechanism inside the wiring installed in their berets, and they start up the hill. 

As expected, the ambient ringing sound begins once they approach the top, and indeed, they see several Groske running about. 

Getting closer, they realise the thing they aren't supposed to be able to see is an enormous ship. The Groske seem to be running between that ship and another, smaller ship which appears to be their own.

It is then that they see it. 

Near the entrance to the larger ship is a massive crystalline creature, humanoid in shape and about seven feet tall.

Hiding behind an old overturned combine harvester, the group watches the creature move in an almost fluid-like manner--- sprouting new crystals with every step that it takes. Several more of these creatures also walk from the smaller ship to the larger ship, then they all disappear inside.

"What are they?" whispers Josh to the rest of the group.

Rose shakes her head, "No idea. Never seen them before. Grace?"

"I'm… not sure. I need to see more and I might be able to give you an answer. We need to get inside that ship. When we get inside though, stay as silent as possible." 

Rose instructs two soldiers to stay behind and observe from behind the combine harvester, and to warn the rest of the group if anything is happening outside.

Together, the remaining group of UNIT soldiers, along with Rose and Grace run towards the ship, head up the gangplank and through the entrance. 

They find themselves in a large entrance chamber, and luckily none of the creatures are in it.

Rose walks around a large vat full of bubbling, crystalline material, and then she sees them. 

Along the wall, sitting at several very large, elaborate computers are seven humans: three police officers, two farmers, and two civilians. They've all got wide, headband-shaped contraptions on their heads, and appear to be in a trancelike state.

She immediately tries to shut down one of the computers and pull the headband off of a young woman, but Grace grabs her arm to stop her.

"No," she whispers, "I've seen something like this before...in Uzbekistan. If you unplug her without deprogramming the computer first you'll kill her. They're slowly taking over her mind and draining her mental energy. That's why they've called us here, and particularly you and I. I can't explain it all right now, but just trust me not to---"

All of a sudden, one of the crystalline creatures grabs Rose from behind, holding her by the wrists and around her neck. 

Several more creatures enter the room, and one soldier begins firing, but the bullets ricochet off of their bodies. One bullet bounces directly back, hitting another soldier in the leg. He doubles over in pain, collapsing to the floor.

A robotic voice finally speaks from the largest of the creatures.

"Your bullets are useless. We cannot be killed. Hand over your weapons or Rose Tyler will be destroyed." 

Immediately, all the soldiers comply, setting their weapons on the floor, and sliding them to the creatures. 

The largest creature speaks again, this time directly to Rose, who is still struggling to break free from the grip of the creature behind her.

"You have what we want, you and your counterpart will be first." 

Rose looks confused as she winces in pain from the creature pulling on her arms.

"Counterpart? What...counterpart?" 

Grace, looking for the last several minutes like she's been biting her tongue, finally speaks up.

"He means me, Rose. I'm sorry for what I'm about to do. And I'm sorry for who I'm about to become. But we have no other choice."

Then, Grace turns again to the creatures, pulling something out of her pocket, aiming it at the computers, and it makes a very familiar whirring sound. It causes the computers start to spark, and the people sitting at them to fall to the floor, stunned.

Rose watches in slow motion as Grace turns to the creatures.

"You lot in this universe may not know me, or at least this version of me, " she says matter-of-factly as she begins to stroll about the room.

"Maaaaybe you'd thought I'd died. In a way, I did! But I hate to burst your bubble...ha. A pun." She scronches up her nose and looks around the room, but to her obvious disappointment, no one laughs.

"Well, all the better. Because the even angrier me is here now. The me with another thousand years of experience. Another thousand years of loss and pain. You see, back in my universe, entire species run at the sound of my name. The last time I encountered you, the Krotons, I destroyed you _AND_ your ship. This is your last and final warning to leave. Because this is over."

She stands in front of the largest of the Krotons, crossing her arms.

"I am the Oncoming Storm. I am the Doctor."

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Comments aren't mandatory, but they are definitely what keep me writing. Knowing you've enjoyed something I made makes me happier than I could ever put into words. Even keysmashes are soooooo satisfying!
> 
> xoxoxo


	8. Quasar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there! This chapter took forever to wrench out of my head because of the sheer inertia of it. I hope you like it.
> 
> The world is a really shitty place right now, so please love one another, and be sure to show that love as much as you can. People sure need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist tracks:  
> "Slip Away" ˜Mumford and Sons  
> "Return to Innocence- Long & Alive Version" ˜Enigma

Sentient beings tend to enjoy collecting things, and have for untold eons across the universe. On Earth in particular, there are some creatures who collect items to attract a mate, meticulously arranging items in a nearly obsessive manner. 

Humans are the most discriminating of these--- collecting cars, stamps, rocks, pets, and even large-headed character action figures, but this is mostly done for sheer entertainment. Some humans even collect experiences, like holidays to Paris and Barbados.

The Doctor, of course, is not human, but she's spent enough time amongst them to pick up a few of their more discernible habits. Amid her several categories of collections (most found in TARDIS junk drawer rooms twenty-three through twenty-six), she amasses all of her combined experiences being _imprisoned_ as though they are metaphoric plaques hanging on a wall in the Outlaw Hall of Fame on Berglammox-7. 

Being labelled a bit of a desperado has been something to which the Doctor has always aspired, because the resulting challenge in escaping is even more cathartic, since over the last two millennia, she's found herself locked in innumerable prison cells. 

There was the time when her first incarnation had been locked up by Wyatt Earp for the Doctor's own safety, because the locals had experienced some trouble differentiating between "Doc Holliday" and "The Doctor from Gallifrey"--- an understandable slip-up on their part.

Much later, her twelfth incarnation had been chained in a dungeon with Robin Hood and Clara Oswald, but naturally in the suffocating level of testosterone that had been found in that room, the latter had been the only one smart enough to manage to get out of it.

And of course the Doctor by this time had lost count of how many instances in which she'd ended up in chains within the Tower of London...and then paradoxically worked with an organisation that was once housed within its walls in the other universe.

As she sits in the middle of the floor in yet another cell, on someone else's ship, she calculates this very impressive number. Cross-legged, elbows propped on her knees, head in her hands, checking off these invisible achievements as though she's on a gaming console leaderboard helps her pass the time. 

Mostly, it shifts the focus of her thoughts on another pressing matter--- one that continues to cause her hearts to squeeze in pain even in fleeting thoughts.

Her current situation can probably be best compared to the time her ninth incarnation had been incarcerated on the planet Justicia---ironically pulled away from the one and only Rose Tyler. The parallels of being separated and locked up within the same facility as Rose then and now cannot be ignored.

Having lost her sonic screwdriver to a Kroton who had spontaneously deconstructed itself and then re-formed directly behind her, the Doctor has the odds stacked against her. Since foolishly revealing her identity by once again doing the _"Look at me I'm the Doctor and I'm invincible!"_ speech, several more Krotons had also joined the ranks, deconstructed and formed all around the room, seizing control of the situation.

All of the UNIT personnel had also been imprisoned in small cells, probably identical to this one. No windows, just a dim, greenish-tinted light above, and no ventilation save for the one-foot-long by three-inches high slit covered by metal grating at the bottom of the wall. 

She had already attempted to see if anyone was inside the two cells on either side of her, but it seemed that the Krotons had been bent on her isolation. It had unfortunately given her plenty of time to also think about Rose's reaction to the Doctor's true identity, and expectedly, she hadn't been pleased.

It had been the hurt in her eyes that was the worst part. The arduous, burning despair, the knowledge she'd been lied to all this time by someone she had found herself falling for. And again, as it had been so many times, it was the Doctor's fault. 

Her mind flashes to the telepathic bond. _Of course._

This might be a way to check up on Rose. She tries channeling it for a moment, but when she feels no trace of anything Rose-tinged she exhales sharply, giving up as quickly as she's started, blowing a lock of her hair out of the way. 

Then she remembers.

She reaches into her coat pocket and takes out the glass phial containing the handful of hairs she had managed to get from Rose's head as they'd danced. For just a moment, she's back there, cheek pressed to Rose's, her scent filling her head. The daze of pure oxytocin flooding her synapses.

The hair in the phial still has that gorgeous golden colour, even in the dim light of the cell. The Doctor's resolve to test those hairs once she manages to get out of this ship and back onto the TARDIS only grows, along with her determination to remove herself from Rose's life and never break her heart again.

Chiseling her mind firmly out of her frustrated downward spiral, the door to the cell next to her opens, she hears footsteps and the impact of a body hitting the floor, then the subsequent re-slamming of the heavy door, followed by muffled crying.

Because she'd know that cry absolutely anywhere, the Doctor scampers over to the metal grating and lays flat on her belly, pressing the side of her face to the cold floor and peering through.

She can see Rose collapsed onto the ground, sobbing and breathing heavily, and bile threatens to come up to her throat in the heaviness of her guilt.

Rose's telepathic signature is now detectable, and it is flooded with distress, like the hackles raised on a frightened animal's back. For a moment, the Doctor considers sending her soothing vibes, but thinks better of it considering the precarious situation between them.

"Rose...?" 

She gets no immediate response to her whisper, as Rose's sniffling doesn't quiet at all. The Doctor tries again, still maintaining the softness in her voice, but ups the volume a bit.

 _"Rose…."_ she says as she sends the _slightest_ telepathic nudge. Not enough to intrude or be forceful, but just enough to alert Rose to her presence. 

The sniffling finally ceases, and Rose is silent, looking around for the voice.

The Doctor nearly stops breathing, waiting expectantly for Rose to tell her off, and she winces and squeezes her eyes shut. 

But instead she hears the rustle of motion followed by breath, and she opens her eyelids to see two honey-coloured eyes peering at her through the grating. These eyes are giving her the exact same look they had given her earlier, when she'd revealed her identity---and they're riddled with pain.

The Doctor's stubborn resolve grows all the more. She takes a wobbly breath and speaks.

"Look, I know you probably hate me right now, and you have every right to for everything I have put you through in the last several decades, across multiple regenerations. But before I say anything else, you need to hear this first so that you know what we're up against, alright?"

Rose still doesn't respond, merely blinking at the Doctor, waiting for her to say what she needs to. The silence is almost worse than a response.

The Doctor sighs.

"So... as you already know, this race is called the Krotons. They are from the planet Krosi-Aspai-Core and they evolved from a race of predatory quasi-organic, tellurium-based crystals which has the ability to mimic its prey's abilities."

The Doctor crosses her arms, propping her chin up on them so that the grating covers part of Rose's face, giving her a greater sense that she is just talking to a wall and merely entertaining a cell neighbor, in the middle of plotting a jailbreak just as she always has. 

She continues. 

"This means they can not only deconstruct themselves and reconstruct elsewhere as you've already seen, they can also appear to be something else entirely. When I first came across them in the other universe during my second incarnation, they had taken the appearance of huge servo robots."

Rose still says absolutely nothing, her breath still audible through the metal grating.

"These ships are called Dynotropes. The Krotons use the Dynotropes to extract mental energy from sentient beings, so that they can build weapons and also to add to their army. That's what that slurry of metallic goo is near the entrance. They feed on mental vibrations. You know that all matter vibrates, right? Well, our thoughts do too in the quantum domain, because our consciousness is separate from our bodies. This is what the Krotons need to survive. And that's what they want with this planet, all that mental energy."

The Doctor lays her face back onto the floor, and sees that Rose is still looking directly at her. Whether she is actually registering what is being said however, remains to be seen.

The Doctor casts her eyes downward. 

"More specifically...they want the bond that you and I share. Or the one you shared with my counterpart. Since you had one with him, you have one with me by default. And at the root of all telepathic connections is the thing they want the most--- artron energy. To complicate things, I am also a full Time Lord, which means it's more valuable to them---"

"So--- how long's it been, Doctor?"

The Doctor is taken aback for a moment and opens her mouth to answer the question she thinks is concerning the Krotons, but then she realises exactly what Rose is asking. 

She looks through the grating directly into Rose's eyes, and feels the telltale stinging in the corners of her own as she attempts to tamp down her emotions, flexing her jaw before answering.

"About a thousand years."

Rose wastes no time.

"And at any time within those thousand years, did it ever occur to you, even once, that you should maybe _stop_ mucking about in other people's lives?"

The Doctor looks for a moment like she's been slapped and her eyes dart, fixating on a spot on the wall. The tears start to well, now.

She places her hands flat on the floor, gripping slightly with her fingertips. 

"I'm sorry, Rose. Really. I am. But I couldn't help it. I _felt_ you, all the way in the original universe. I felt the severed connection and the strength of your pain and I followed it. I didn't know it was you, of course, but I assumed that it was a cry for help."

Rose's eyes widen as she realises the implications.

"You... picked up a broken telepathic connection...in another universe? That's _not_ possible."

The Doctor sniffles and looks back at Rose.

"Yet here I am." 

"It's also not possible that you, the Doctor, regenerated and lived another thousand years without being mortally injured. I know how many regenerations you had left--- _he told me_. No way in hell could you ever be careful enough. Another Time Lord maybe could have, but not you. So either you're lying or you're just simply withholding information."

"I've regenerated three times since I last saw you on that beach. I found a loophole and a reset button, of sorts. After old spindly-legs I was a floppy-haired git in tweed and a bow tie and after that I was a grumpy old punk-rocking Scotsman."

Rose starts to chuckle slightly, and it's a sound that causes the Doctor's hearts to seize.

"Now _that_ sounds more like you. Although good on you for finally joining the ranks as female. All that ego must have been utterly _suffocating_ after two millenia."

Neither means to, but they both start the beginnings of a small smile, and their eyes meet again. Both smiles fade just as quickly as they had appeared, leaving some more awkward silence.

The Doctor lays her hand on the grating, palm against the metal. Rose repeats the motion, so the Doctor emboldens and pushes her fingers through the narrow holes so that she's clinging to Rose's fingers. Rose closes hers as best she can then around the Doctor's.

"They've taken my sonic, so I can't get us out of here very easily. But I promise I will."

Rose laughs fully this time, and shifts, looking toward her torso and pulling something out of her vest.

The item starts to whirr, and lights up pink on one end.

"You were saying?"

The Doctor grins.

"Rose Tyler, finally with her own sonic, look at you!"

"So where's the T---"

"SHH! No. Mustn't talk about that---can't risk it."

"Right, sorry."

The Doctor lowers her voice even more, almost to a whisper. 

"It would probably be best if you handed your sonic to me, since they think I don't have one, and they don't know about yours. I can open my door and let you out then."

Rose silently passes the sonic through the grating, and the Doctor looks it over.

"Very nice! Did I make it for you? Or the other me---"

"I designed and assembled it actually, but you lent some help towards the end when it needed to be programmed. That part's a bit beyond the 21st century Earth textbooks I've studied."

The Doctor starts waving her hand and whispering excitedly. 

"Ohhhh it's got an LED neural relay and a crystal wave prism just below the primary wave cluster. Ooh! And---"

"Doctor. Can we get out of here? You can fangirl over my sonic later."

"Right. Yes. Ok, hold tight."

The Doctor stands and hurries over to the door, unlocking it effortlessly using Rose's sonic. She nearly dies of sheer pride at how easily the sonic handles the process.

"Oh yeah, this is a good one. I've got chills!"

"Still in here, you know…." 

The Doctor exits her cell and hurries to the one next door, careful to remain undetected.

Once Rose is out, they hug properly.

Melting into one another, they each sigh, and gooseflesh breaks out across the Doctor's skin all over again. The knowledge of the Doctor's identity makes Rose seem even more keen to wrap herself around her, nuzzling her face into the Doctor's neck. The Doctor's insides nearly liquify.

Before she can allow herself to get carried away yet again, the Doctor pulls away from Rose, gripping her upper arms. 

She mouths, almost silently, "Let's try to find the others."

Rose takes back her sonic, and they tiptoe along as fast as they can go. Coming to the end of the hallway where it turns to the right in yet another long corridor of cells, Rose quietly knocks and presses her ear against the first doorway.

Nothing.

She tries again with another door, and still nothing. Ten doorways, fifteen, and still no response or indication that anyone is alive inside.

The Doctor starts to panic slightly that the Krotons have already drained the minds of everyone else and have only kept she and Rose alive for this long.

The Doctor can see that Rose is starting to feel the same panic, so she reaches over for her hand, sending waves of comfort over their connection. The Doctor looks directly into her eyes, and feels her mind constrict slightly at the contact, but at this point it seems to dawn on her what exactly it is, and she allows for it--- but only just.

The Doctor's words try to make up for this gap.

"It is possible that they're being kept on another floor. Don't worry. We'll try to find our way either up or down---"

Just then an alarm breaks through the quiet, and the Doctor feels terror clawing at their connection. The dim lighting begins to blink, then goes off completely, leaving the hallway pitch black. Rose and the Doctor grip each other hard, and then they see it.

A light at the end of the hallway comes on, and moving fast towards them is a Kroton. It spots them and doubles its speed, sprouting new, metallic crystals with every step it takes.

With nowhere to run, the two women freeze for the inevitable, and they wrap their arms around one another, squeezing their eyes shut.

When nothing happens several moments later, the Doctor peeks out of one eye, and gasps.

All around them, is the Kroton--- now in the form of a metal cage. And waddling towards them as fast as its short legs can carry it, is a Groske.

It's too late when the Doctor realises the Groske is carrying some kind of weapon, and she gasps as it sticks the gun between the bars of the cage and pulls the trigger.

…

Rose is still clinging to the Doctor's body when she suddenly feels the telltale sickness in her stomach that can be attributed to nothing else but a teleport. The burning, familiar smell of ozone accompanies the rotting stench of sulphur, and Rose is not in the least bit surprised at the sight before her when she opens her eyes.

She and the Doctor have been transmatted to another room, a massive space cast all in galvanized silver metal, with switches and circuits all over the walls, and two huge, metal armchairs connected at the armrest--- similar to seats at the cinema but much less welcoming.

The chairs themselves each have locking mechanisms both at the wrists and ankles, and the vestigial queasiness in Rose's stomach worsens as it dawns on her just who will be going into these chairs.

There are four Krotons who have indeed taken the form of large servo robots precisely as the Doctor had described, complete with hands that function as several different tools in the place of fingers. Each one is whirring mechanically as preparations are made, and settings are entered into a large computer monitor.

Before Rose can do anything else or attempt to reach for her sonic, she is seized by the wrists and shoved hard in the direction of one of the chairs, and the Doctor is forced towards the second one, directly next to her.

Both women are strapped in, and wide, silver headbands with cables hanging off of them--- identical to the one Rose had attempted to pull off of the woman in the entrance hall--- are shoved onto their heads. Their ankles are clamped down, along with their opposite arms.

Each arm that is closest to the other person is joined in one large clamp--- Rose's right and the Doctor's left. 

There is no way to avoid skin-on-skin contact. Rose feels the Doctor's panic as their minds brush against each other, but she realises that most of it is fear for _HER_.

One of the Krotons' booming robotic voices calls out to another.

"Everything is set. Initiate the extraction sequence." 

Another Kroton pulls a switch, and a massive generator with a thick, coiled circuit embedded into an alcove on the wall grinds to life, with bolts of electricity branching off of it as it churns faster and faster.

Suddenly, Rose's jaw tightens and locks involuntarily as the device on her headband jolts her body and starts clicking and emitting a deafening, ambient pinging noise. Almost at once, her head feels like it's folding in on itself.

The Doctor squeezes her hand, and she looks over to see that she is in just as much discomfort and distress as Rose is.

Instead of the Doctor's telepathic presence brushing up against her mind, it feels as though her entire periphery is about to be assaulted. _Invaded_ , even. The pressure balloons out, pushing against her brain, and every cell within feels as though it's being stabbed. She can feel the Doctor trying to resist it, but she knows that eventually, she will fail and be forced to give in.

Rose begins to wish it would just happen quickly and be done, so that the pain will just subside, even a little.

"I'm so sorry..." the Doctor whispers, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Rose cannot respond, she is in so much pain she feels like her head is going to crack open and create some kind of bottomless chasm. She squeezes her eyes shut, and grips the Doctor's hand.

She can see nebulas---real ones. Not the ones created from pressing her eyelids. Stars are born with swirling clouds of dust in blues, pinks, and greens, expanding out as billions of years pass and simultaneously no time at all. 

Geometric shapes collapse in on themselves and then expand, doubling, multiplying. DNA's double helix morphs into cell division, multiplying into circles, and finally into the Flower of Life. Crystals grow and branch, turning to snowflakes, overlapping as sound waves, vibration, and energy. 

Twelve phases of the moon.

Four knocks.

Four heartbeats.

The grinding halt of the universe, the silence of the stars.

Everything, and nothing.

Deep breath in, and out.

Suddenly Rose is in front of a mirror, like from her dreams, but it's the surface of the ocean--- yet glassy, viscous, and metallic. She's moving closer to it, sinking down further, and the closer she moves to it, the more pressure she feels in her head. 

Through, to the other side, is the Doctor--- the same one sitting next to her, squeezing her hand.

She can tell by the Doctor's timed reactions that she is seeing the exact same thing, only with Rose on the other side.

Soon the surface, or whatever thin membrane stands between them, will swallow them each whole, or else they will collide. The water will break, and the reservoir will burst. 

Rose braces for impact but she is instead engulfed in light.

_Four heartbeats, over and over._

It is the Doctor's very soul. 

It smells like Time. Rose can feel it in tangible colours, assaulting her senses. She cries out in unadulterated euphoria as she remembers--- it feels like heaven, and Rose is home. The Doctor's soul envelops hers, surrounds her own in the torrent of a protective wave crashing over her.

Rose takes it in, soaking in it, allowing it to penetrate every cell in her body. As though she's been starved every second since _he_ passed away, because in a sense, she has.

When she finally realises what she's seeing next, she takes a sharp, wobbly breath.

Two people, standing on a beach, hand in hand.

She becomes aware that she's looking at herself, holding _his_ hand---the one in the blue suit and maroon t-shirt. She nearly unravels completely when she realises she's watching the Doctor's memories--- the fully Time Lord Doctor whose hand she is holding.

The two on the beach disappear as the TARDIS doors are shut.

She feels the double ache in the chest of the Doctor in brown as if it is her own, and it becomes nearly unbearable as she watches him pull Donna's memories out of her head, and then leaves her behind. 

She watches him chasing a blond man--- the Master, not dead after all. _He_ had told her about him, and the year that wasn't. The Master is laughing and screaming. Then there are...Time Lords? The Seal of Rassilon adorns their high collars, and their twisted cruelty is written on their faces, but the Doctor blasts them back into the Time War, and Rose nearly cheers out loud.

Further and further, into the Doctor's mind she falls. She can see the Fibonacci Spiral, and the spinning, cosmogyral arms of galaxies, appearing and then blinking out of existence.

She sees Donna's grandfather Wilf, in trouble. The Doctor steps into a booth, sacrificing himself to save his life. He is screaming in agony, and Rose can feel the burning of his skin, every inch crying out to regenerate.

But he won't. Doesn't want to. He doesn't want to do this anymore. She feels his body practically igniting, flames erupting out of his limbs, but his fear is cold like death.

 _"Change...please,"_ his body screams.

His mind refuses. Not this time.

Then Rose sees... _herself_?

He stumbles in the snow, in the shadows. She's wearing that stupid purple beanie, and she's laughing and walking with her mum. Rose's heart clenches at the sight of her.

Then she remembers. It was New Year's Day, 2005. She had assumed he was just another drunk...but it was _him._ He was dying, and he had come to cast one more look at her.

Tears are rolling down her cheeks, now. 

She feels his entire body light up as she smiles back at him.

_"I bet you're gonna have a really great year."_

Then he's on fire, almost literally.

The floppy-haired Doctor in tweed and a bowtie prances around a brand new console room with a girl with red hair named Amy, and a young man holding her hand named Rory.

Rose can _FEEL_ Time, now. Swinging like a pendulum in a clock. The slow spinning of the Earth, grinding to a halt. 

Causal nexus has a _sense._

He loses Amy and Rory, and his hearts are broken.

But Amy and Rory's spots in the TARDIS are replaced by a girl with dark hair named Clara--- he calls her the Impossible Girl. And the TARDIS changes once again. 

Rose looks up to see the names of all of his companions written around the top of the console in circular Gallifreyan...and she can suddenly read every single one of them, including her own.

She looks back down to feel the sickness in his stomach. He has a secret that he's never told anyone--- that he will take to the grave. He's in tears, and Clara is comforting him. When Clara isn't looking, he's in his bathroom in the TARDIS, retching and trembling...alone.

There is a small shack, and a man walking towards it with a large sack slung on his back. Inside the shack, two Doctors--- the brown-suited one and the bow tie one--- stand along with another man, and Clara is there.

Two Doctors, together.

No... _THREE_. The battle-worn Doctor with terror in his eyes is the oldest face she's seen him wear, but his eyes are the youngest.

And then she sees herself...but not really as Rose.

_"It's nothing...it's just a wolf."_

They are standing around a big, red button that looks like a gemstone--- a rose, really.

And Rose realises she's witnessing the destruction of Gallifrey.

But this time, they are all making the decision together. They place their hands on the button, the three of him--- 

But they _pull away._

They change their history.

Thirteen Doctors, in their TARDISes, zoom about a huge, red planet swarming with Daleks. The Doctors save the planet, and the Daleks are wiped out with a nearly galaxy-swallowing explosion.

Rose wants to wipe tears of happiness and of sorrow from her face, but she can't. She squeezes the Doctor's hand again instead to show her she understands, and the Doctor squeezes back. 

_"I'll always remember when the Doctor was me."_

The bowtie Doctor changes into the silver-haired Doctor, still with Clara by his side. 

This Doctor doesn't smile much as Rose watches his adventures, but with time, he smiles more. His eyes begin to soften, thanks to his love for his best friend. He and Clara form an even deeper friendship, which solidifies around his hearts like a protective shield.

But inevitably, he loses her, and Rose feels his despair as he spends years... _eons_ inside a castle, doing the same things over and over. Again and again, he's running from a veiled creature, he punches a wall made of diamond, a nearly infinite number of times. 

He burns to death, over and over.

But he gets through, eventually. And on the other side is a citadel encased in a glass dome.

_Gallifrey._

Rose is crying even harder now. It's beautiful---they really _had_ saved it.

Rose can feel the pull of the moon and each of its phases, now, and its revolutions around the Earth. The raging of the tides, and the inertia of the changing atmosphere. 

A beautiful young black woman named Bill comes into the Doctor's life, and he starts smiling yet again. But it doesn't last. 

Rose sees a Cyberman--- the old kind, looking almost like what was in Van Statten's Museum, but even more primitive. The Cyberman tells the Doctor that she used to be his friend Bill, and Rose watches his hearts break yet again.

There is also the Master, and a woman...who is also the Master? _Two Masters._

Bill the Cyberman carries the Doctor's lifeless body.

_But he does not die._

He meets himself once again, but this time it's his first incarnation--- Rose remembers his description. Both are regenerating, and both convince the other they have to live on. The Doctor _must_ live on.

The older Doctor gives in, and says to be kind.

_Doctor, I let you go._

The woman Rose has known as Grace bursts out of his ashes. The one who is currently trembling as she grips Rose's hand--- and through the visions in her mind, in the physical world, she can see that tears are rolling down her cheeks.

She is blond. She is _made of light_ ….almost déjà vu.

_The Timeless Child._

Rose watches her fall from the TARDIS, into a train. She is running with an older gentleman she calls Graham, and two younger friends named Ryan and Yaz. 

And the _real_ Grace O'Brien.

She makes a new sonic screwdriver, and she's all hands and arms and manic energy.

But the real Grace falls, and Graham and Ryan must mourn. The Doctor is there for them, every moment.

The flashes of the Doctor's life are coming faster, now, and Rose's mind struggles to keep up.

Then they're in the vacuum of space, floating. A ship comes, and she finds the TARDIS, which has renewed itself inside and out to what Rose had already seen in her dreams.

The four laugh together, and do plenty of running. They meet Rosa Parks, and some big spiders. Yaz finds her roots and the story of her family. 

Rose wants to meet them. Hug them all. 

Then there is a man with a dark complexion and dark hair...he tells them he is the Master. 

He makes her kneel, and he's more full of hate than ever before, somehow, and he is laughing maniacally. He asks the Doctor when the last time she'd gone home was.

The TARDIS doors open again and the citadel is burning. Everything is engulfed in smoke and burning embers. Rose feels the terror in her hearts reach an unbearable level.

She lies alone in her bed, trembling and shaking.

Rose tries to shake the vision from her head so she can see properly in the real world.

Rose looks over at her--- she's covered in sweat, and she's panting, her eyes squeezed shut. The Doctor screams, and can't seem to get out of her own head, out of the trance. But she fights back, finally wrenching her eyes open.

She fixes her eyes on the Krotons and goes into full Oncoming Storm mode.

"No...you can't take it! I know what you did. You opened a rift between worlds! You detected the other me, didn't you? You somehow saw inside his head and saw that we've met you before, in another universe. And now that he's gone, you projected the telepathic bond so that I would find it, and you knew that a bond with a full Time Lord would mean _more artron energy_."

The Kroton at the computer responds, coldly.

"We wanted _her_...we did not open the door, we do not have that power. We wanted the artron energy that lives within her skin to power our ship. We got you both...and now we can power _an army_. All we have to do is activate _hers._ "

The Kroton looks directly at Rose, then turns back to the Doctor.

"But we're not quite done with you yet---"

It pulls the lever that powers the Doctor's headband even further. The Doctor's body begins to shudder and seize violently, and she begins to glow with energy.

_She's regenerating._

Someone is screaming, and it takes several seconds before Rose comes to realise that the terror-stricken sound is coming from herself. Her throat is raw from tears flooding her sinuses already, and then one of the Krotons shouts out another command.

"Pull the artron inhibitor!"

Another creature flips yet another switch along the wall, and the Doctor stops glowing immediately, but instead the artron energy starts flowing out of her body, through the headband, and down through the cables, and into a large battery-like reservoir.

The Doctor's face is contorted in agony, and Rose thinks fast. She screams the Doctor's name to try to rouse her, to ground her and bring her back. She squeezes her hand as hard as she can without causing injury.

It's not working. She tries again.

_"Doctor! Wake up! Please!"_

The Kroton at the computer laughs in its cruel voice. 

"She cannot hear you. She _will not_ hear you. And you will be next, once we've taken all of the energy we can get from her. Together, your combined energies will re-ignite the full power of your telepathic bond, and it will power everything we need to dominate worlds like Earth for _centuries to come._ "

Rose's entire body flashes in anger, a rage she had seldom felt in her life. Before she is even cognisant of what she's doing, she is channeling all the Doctor's residual artron energy, just as if she had been born to--- _perhaps she had been._

She addresses the Krotons as though she's an unfed black hole, ready to consume them alive.

" _NO_ \---she can _ALWAYS_ hear me." 

Rose closes her eyes, and concentrates. She tries to find that empty room, the one that once had led to the Doctor. Deep in the recesses of her mind, she concentrates on his face. On _all_ the Doctor's faces---all of the ones she's known, and all of the ones she'd had described to her in painstaking detail.

The Kroton at the computer pulls another switch, doubling the electric current, making Rose's jaw clench all over again, and she knows that it's her turn.

But she doesn't give them a chance. She thinks about the Doctor, and concentrates on the bond. 

Her cropped-hair Doctor, and his worn leather jacket. His calloused hands, and how they fit so warmly around her own, despite his cooler body temperature. His easy smile and his gruff vulnerability.

Her rude-but-not-ginger Doctor, with the brown suit and the spiky hair. And his counterpart, with one heart, who she'd spent decades with. The first tentative days, and then the hours of lovemaking. He would barely touch her before asking to connect telepathically.

He had aged so beautifully--- his eyes growing older, but never losing that twinkle. His later years. That day, a medical doctor had said his mind would start to go, and he would start to forget everything, even her. 

He had locked himself in his lab for weeks, after that. She had been heartbroken when he'd shut her out, but she could hear him working in his lab as fast as his aged body would allow.

They still reconnected telepathically after that. She could still feel his soul, over the next few years, even though he couldn't communicate well any other way. They'd started to rely on that connection. It had been their home, their common ground.

Rose concentrates on him, and that feeling. She concentrates on the floppy-haired Doctor and the silver-haired Doctor in between.

Now she concentrates on this Doctor. The one she had known as Grace. The one she had fallen in love with all over again, as she knew she would with any incarnation the crazy old Time Lord could ever summon out of regeneration energy.

_Her Doctor._

She channels that love, and hits the access point, and finds her there---scared, and dying, but safe. And warm. Rose meets that soul, the one that smells like home. That one, currently bursting with artron energy.

Rose can feel the full moon rising behind her, now. A spectral body of gravity, and a wolf howling in its wake.

And suddenly her entire body explodes into light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for reading, and I'm already in the process of writing out the next chapter. I'm so excited to share it with you. 
> 
> Please leave a comment, they're like sheer dopamine for me-- really! Thank you so much for coming along this far.


	9. Translucent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life has been very busy with work all of a sudden, so sorry this took so long. This chapter is quite long, so I hope I've made up for it. 
> 
> Also, note the rating change😏
> 
> I want to thank all my friends as usual, but this time especially Ashley ([Hidden Treasures/LastBlueTardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastbluetardis/pseuds/HiddenTreasures)) for being my own personal consult on things acid will dissolve. It's very nice because a) I love you and b) having a friend who's a PhD student in chemistry has definite benefits!
> 
> So, my best friend [Elialys](https://elialys.tumblr.com/) is starting a real writing career. Anyone who's been active in this fandom already knows how extraordinarily talented she is, and she's got a new Tumblr page. Follow her progress: <https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/ellie-alice-pearson>
> 
>   
> Playlist tracks:  
> "No Other Love"~Heart  
> "The Absence of Fear"~Jewel

_Muscle and sinew_   
_Velvet and stone_   
_This vessel is haunted_   
_It creaks and moans_   
_My bones call to you_   
_In their separate skin_   
_I make myself translucent_   
_To let you in, for_   
_I am wanting_   
_And I am needing of you here_   
_Inside the absence of fear_

_There is this hunger_   
_This restlessness inside of me_   
_And it knows that you're no stranger_   
_You're my gravity_

_My hands will adore you through all darkness aim_   
_They will lay you out in moonlight_   
_And reinvent your name_

_The Doctor is regenerating._

As a rule of thumb, the regeneration process is effectively a rebirth. Every cell in the body dies, and this triggers the creation of brand new ones. You are completely renewed... _rebooted._ Your warranty extended. Your subscription continued just before lapsing.

The Doctor has gone through this arduous and complicated process so many times now that she's nearly lost track. And yet, this process somehow between being burned alive and being _cocooned_ all at the same time is as painful as it is cathartic and soothing.

Like a phoenix. 

Near death and decrepit, its feathers begin falling out, and its skin becomes aachrous and too tight for its body. Its death becomes the inexorable link between exhaustion and exuberance, and it suddenly is engulfed in flames, immediately turning to ash. 

It then emerges from its charred remains, brand new.

A self-contained cataclysm.

The Doctor is the same--- effectively dying, and then being reborn from the embers of her former self.

This time, as always, she's not sure what she'll end up as--- and at this point she doesn't much care. She's savouring the cocoon period as long as she can. 

Like a dream you don't want to wake up from because you know you'll have to get out of your warm bed. 

This time, though, feels a bit different in that she feels as though she's floating--- suspended in mid-air. Or maybe in space, bouncing endlessly about the universe, like an asteroid. Maybe even a speck of dust.

The more she's aware of it, the more the feeling resembles being suspended in _water_ instead of in space.

She can even hear muffled voices beyond whatever body of liquid she happens to be submerged in. Regardless of where she is, however, it starts to dawn on her that she really should find a way to take a breath.

She opens her eyes to find herself indeed in water, her clothes puffing out in front of her in swathes, and her hair clouded in front of her face. She looks down to see nothing but a boundless blue void.

She notices the bright ripples across her body, coming from a light source above, so she looks up. Her lungs ache to swim to the surface, but she just feels.. _.tired._ Like she doesn't want to. Her lungs are burning, now, despite the respiratory bypass. 

But the surface seems a million miles away, what is the point?

Just as she's contemplating whether or not swimming upward would have any advantages at all, a body dives into the water. The person is haloed by the light source's rays, as if the person had been stitched together by light itself. Long, blond hair billows around the person's head, and suddenly, they put their arm around the Doctor's waist and begin to hoist her to the surface.

The Doctor is so exhausted, that being pulled upwards causes her head to tilt and lull forwards, so that she finds herself now able to see the floor of whatever body of water this is.

Resting on the bottom, is a fob watch.

Giving in to the overwhelming urge to retrieve it despite the inevitable hypoxia, the Doctor struggles and reaches her arms downwards to attempt to break free, but the person won't release her. 

She has the distinct feeling that this person wouldn't let go of her under any circumstance--- _ever._

They finally break the surface and she is hoisted onto the side of what she now recognises as the TARDIS' swimming pool.

Familiar faces from various points in her life crowd around her. 

Zoe Heriot. One of the incarnations of Rassilon---complete with the big, stupid collar. Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. Donna Noble's mum. Queen Nefertiti. The Kerblam man? 

They all help, trying to clear the water out of her airway so that she can take a breath, and someone rolls her onto her side, smacking her back.

She coughs and sputters water, and finally inhales. Her lungs are raw.

The air stinks of sulphur.

Then, the edges and contours of the faces of the people crowded around melt away and bleed like a mirage, or even paint on a hot day. She feels a comfortable presence in her mind, as though the sun is warming her very soul from the inside out, regardless of whether she had really been underwater or not.

She finally opens her eyes, in the real world.

She sees that she is still in the room cast in all metal, strapped to a chair by the Krotons, and Rose is still next to her, holding her hand like her life depends on it. 

However, Rose is not herself.

She is infused in light and glowing, and looks to be on the brink of self-combusting. Light is practically escaping her pores and her eyes, illuminating her blood vessels and capillaries. It is scorching everything around her, making her translucent.

The Doctor frantically struggles to get loose so that she can help, but Rose speaks.

"My Doctor. All along your timeline, I have sought to protect you. From the Time War, to the Game Station, to many other places you never even knew I was. I _am_ energy. Souls are energy, and energy is everything."

The Doctor chokes on her words, heaving, "You can't do this, you'll die! Your body can't handle it!"

"My body has always been capable, ever since I absorbed the Time Vortex. This is the answer to the question you have been seeking. It has lived within my skin, transformed my DNA, and it is the power that these creatures seek. All I needed was a little artron energy."

Rose sends waves of calm to the Doctor over their connection, and she finally begins to relax, allowing herself to ease back into her own skin.

The Krotons, however, are in full-on panic mode.

"She's going to overload the system!" one of them screams, trying helplessly to flip switches and cut the power.

"No," Rose says firmly, fixing her eyes on the creature. She breathes in through her nose, slowly, her chest expanding. Deeply. She holds it for a moment, and breathes out tiny clouds of pure light. 

Then she closes her eyes.

She channels her energy with such precision that it starts to cause reality to distort and bend, and the edges of objects to flex and wobble, as though the laws of physics are really just an option. Re-opening her eyes and fixing them on the reservoir, she forces the artron energy that is still flowing from the Doctor to halt, switch directions completely, and flow back into her.

As each drawn-out nanosecond passes, the Doctor feels colour returning to her face, the vestigial nausea easing, and blood returning to her limbs. 

However, the machines are apparently not capable of handling the speed at which Rose is siphoning energy, so the Krotons become even more frantic as the huge coil on the wall begins to churn faster and heat up, going from silver, to yellow, to orange, and finally to red. Sparks and bolts of electricity fly from it and other circuits, and lights flicker. 

Three of the Krotons lunge forwards to strike Rose and the Doctor in an act of desperation, but Rose fixes her incensed stare directly on them, clenching her fists, and she starts trembling as though she is about to go nuclear.

The crystalline structure of the surface of the Krotons' bodies changes, morphing from textured to liquid and rippling as though they are turning to gel. It's as if Rose has gone subatomic, entered their quantum structure, and altered it completely.

Just as she doubles down, and the clamps on her own and the Doctor's hands and feet burst open, she stands. She outstretches her hands, palms out, and in slow motion, she lets out a cathartic scream, pushing her hands apart and away from her body.

The Krotons shatter into pieces, ripped apart into metallic blobs, splattering across the room just as the huge coil melts through the wall, sinking through the metal floor.

Rose collapses, gasping in exhaustion, and she closes her eyes, her body going limp. She lies motionless on the floor, unconscious.

Although she is mere feet away, the Doctor feels as though she cannot reach her fast enough, like in her dreams where she tries to run and her legs won't move. She sits on the ground next to Rose, scooping her into her lap.

The Doctor cradles her close, gently trying to rouse her, shaking her ever so slightly.

"Rose….. _Rose_ , love. Please, wake up."

Rose remains out cold in the Doctor's arms. 

The Doctor frantically feels her neck for a pulse, and her own hearts jump when she locates it--- it's weak but it is definitely there. Rose's body is covered in a cold sweat, so the Doctor lays her down gently on the floor, takes off her own coat, and scoops Rose up once again, wrapping the coat around her as best as she can, covering her head with the hood.

She tries again to call her out of her catatonic state, but this time she employs telepathy. She reaches deep, and quickly finds Rose there. She is indeed comatose, but she is safe. The Doctor then attempts to rouse her, as though she is breathing life into her.

At the same time, she puts her face near Rose's mouth and nose to check for breathing. After a moment of listening very carefully, she feels Rose's weak breath against the side of her face. The Doctor's hearts practically leap for joy, but before she turns her head to look, she feels Rose's lips brush against her cheek.

She pulls away, and looks down to see Rose's eyes flutter open.

The Doctor is by this time well aware of the fact that tears have been dripping down her face for the last several minutes, but at this point she breaks down into sobs, and she gathers Rose up as close as she can, as though she can merge their bodies like fusion.

Understandably, Rose can't breathe well, and she also has some questions.

She manages to squeak out, "What...happened? I remember I melted them...didn't I?"

The Doctor releases her a bit.

"You did. You happened, Rose Tyler. You saved my life, again."

The Doctor has had enough with walls and barriers, between worlds and otherwise, so she pulls Rose close again and scatters kisses across her cheeks, across the bridge of her nose, nuzzling her close, taking in her intoxicating scent, which her entire being has craved for a millenia. 

She pulls back again, looking into her eyes, cupping her face, running her thumb across Rose's lips. She ignores her gnawing exhaustion and allows her hearts to swell up like balloons.

The Doctor looks down at her mouth, and back up again, down, and back up, flitting her eyes back and forth several times, and swallowing thickly, as if she is searching for permission. 

Rose is the one to close the distance, however, raising her body and pressing her mouth to the Doctor's, threading her hands into her hair, as the Doctor cradles her body.

Instantly, the Doctor wraps herself further around her, sinking into her, practically shivering with ecstasy, allowing it to trickle through her hands and her lips.

But as is fate, before even a second passes and the kiss can progress to anything more than just a quick touch of the lips, the doors burst open, and Tony, Liliana, Adam, and about eight other UNIT personnel are suddenly standing with huge grins on their faces.

Other UNIT soldiers can now be heard running up and down the corridors, chaos ensuing as they open cells, freeing their colleagues. 

It is in that moment that the Doctor and Rose notice that they are all holding large, brightly-colored water guns--- the huge kind that kids use in the summer, with an extra reservoir for holding water, and a pump on the nozzle. " _Super Soaker 2000"_ is labeled on the outside of each gun. 

The confused looks on the Doctor and Rose's faces break the silence, and Liliana finally speaks.

"Oh for crying out loud, finally! But save it for later, will you? Look, take these and shoot them at the Krotons. They're full of sulphuric acid, which dissolves tellurium. The acid will destroy the creatures but not the guns themselves since they're mostly made from high-density polyethylene."

Liliana helps both the Doctor and Rose to their feet, and Rose looks at her quizzically.

"How did you know all of this? We didn't have the chance to communicate with you from inside the ship before the Krotons took our radios."

"The Doctor. Apparently he came across one Kroton more than forty years ago, back in the year 2020. We found it in the files. He never mentioned it to you?"

Rose looks at her incredulously.

"Lily...2020? That was the year from hell, we were in the middle of a pandemic. We weren't allowed to work in the office as much and had to cut down our on-site staff because many of them got sick. Between restrictions, working from home, quarantines, and all the other madness, I found myself a little overworked. I was walking around like a zombie half the time...although a crystalline creature does kind of ring a bell..."

Lily looks at the Doctor, now.

"Dr. O'Brien, have you ever seen these before or heard of anything like them?"

The Doctor smiles sheepishly, and hesitates.

Rose breaks up the awkwardness for her sake.

"You lot weren't there when we entered this ship, so no one's told you, I assume?"

Tony pipes up from the back.

"Told us what?"

Rose gives a slight smile, and motions towards the Doctor.

"This...is the Doctor. As in the original article, not Dr. O'Brien. The full Time Lord, from Gallifrey, thousands of years old now, and she's regenerated several times since she last looked like the Doctor you know. She's managed to slip through from the other universe."

The entire group looks dumbfounded, as though they're not so easily convinced. The Doctor steps in to confirm.

"It's true, it is me. What matters though right now is that we get out of this situation, and I will explain how I got here later."

The group still looks very wary, as if they need some more confirmation, so they continue to look at the Doctor skeptically.

She rolls her eyes and sighs heavily. "Okay, look. It's confusing, I'll admit. It's all a bit wibbly-wobbly---"”

 _"TIMEY WIMEY!"_ the entire group, who are suddenly beaming, chimes in unison.

They all crowd closer to the Doctor and take turns patting her on the back and shaking her hand. Tony pulls her into a bone-crushing hug. The Doctor stiffens initially, but then hugs him back with just as much enthusiasm. 

Tony pulls back with tears at the corners of his eyes.

"We're delighted you're back with us, Doctor. You've been greatly missed, even though you're a different version of yourself. But the Doctor is the Doctor, and honestly nothing surprises us with you anymore."

The Doctor beams at him.

"And I'm glad to finally meet you as myself, Tony Tyler. I was very fond of both your parents and see that they raised a wonderful human being."

Tony smiles back, but then the Doctor diverts her attention back to the rest of the UNIT personnel, as though not a single day has passed since she had been on their payroll.

"Okay. You'll need to spray the Krotons with the acid to dissolve them, but it doesn't take much. Only use what's necessary, because slowly the creature will completely disintegrate, but you don't want to do it too quickly because it creates fumes that---"

The Doctor pauses, as her attention is diverted by someone suddenly standing very close in her periphery. She turns to see Rose, suddenly donning a gas mask.

"Are you my mummy?"

The Doctor's face breaks out in glee and she starts giggling uncontrollably, the tears from the trauma she's just been through are now being covered with fresh ones just from sheer joy.

The rest of the crowd shifts uncomfortably as Rose takes the gas mask off and they both attempt to stifle their giggles, but it's unsuccessful as each keeps snorting at random intervals, causing the other to start cracking up all over again. 

Finally Tony interrupts by clearing his throat. The Doctor straightens herself out, not daring to even look at Rose for fear she can't control herself. She wipes the tears from her eyes and re-addresses the crowd, easily slipping back into Doctor mode.

"Well, since you all seem to have gas masks, spray as much as you want, but be warned that the ship is also made of tellurium crystals and it will dissolve too eventually."

She walks over and bangs on one of the metal walls with her hand. 

"This is something you want, but not while we're all inside. So do what you need to do, and get out. We will at some point be forced to destroy the ship because as a security measure, these Dynotropes are designed to self-destruct if they are given the opportunity to power down fully. The resulting explosion could wipe the entire city of London and the surrounding six counties completely off the map."

The Doctor turns to Tony.

"Can you radio headquarters and ask for a more efficient way to spray more acid throughout the ship?"

Tony nods, handing his water gun to Rose.

"You take this for the two of you. Lily can get me outside so that I can call, there's not much signal in here."

And with that, Rose puts her gas mask back on, and the other UNIT soldiers put theirs on as well, and they all file out the door.

Rose looks at the Doctor and grabs her hand as the other comes up to her mask, as though it dawns on her that the Doctor doesn't have one.

"Respiratory bypass. I'll be fine, I promise you. I can hold my breath."

The Doctor squeezes her hand back, and gripping her screwdriver in her other hand, they leave the room and start running down the corridor together. With each room they come across, they burst open the door and they find a new person to free in about half of them. But there are no Krotons in sight.

After the seventh door, Rose steps inside the cell and lifts her mask.

"You know if I was anywhere else, running down a hallway with a gas mask and a giant water gun, I'd get locked up in a padded cell instead of one of these. But given my current company, I doubt anyone would be surprised in the least."

The Doctor laughs again, "Now _that_ is an understatement."

About twenty-five minutes later, they are just getting to one of the largest rooms, belonging to an officer and one of the largest of the Krotons.

It steps out in front of them the moment they get inside, along with a Groske holding another gun-shaped tool. The Doctor instantly disables its weapon with her screwdriver, causing it to hurl a string of what are assumed to be curses in both English its own language. It teleports itself out of the room before either of them gets a chance to catch it.

Rose sprays the Kroton with acid, pumping the gun with her other hand to keep the stream steady. As promised, the Kroton starts to dissolve. The Doctor helps de-stabilise its composition even further with her sonic.

After emptying a quarter of the acid in the gun, enough of the creature has collapsed for Rose and the Doctor to allow nature to take its course. Rose looks down at it and smirks.

"I feel like I'm Dorothy or something..."

But the Doctor doesn't respond, as she is finding that despite the respiratory bypass and the necessity to take at least _some_ breaths due to all of the running, she is becoming overwhelmed by the fumes. She begins coughing, and Rose grabs her arm, throwing it up over her shoulder so she is supporting the Doctor's weight, and she leads her out of the room.

Rose takes the gas mask off in the hallway, and allows herself to catch her own breath before leading the Doctor further away. The Doctor pulls back to stop her.

She gasps out,"That Kroton had a large pendant hanging on its neck with an hourglass-shaped symbol on it. It looks like the design on the back of a black widow spider. I've also noticed from the other Groske that we've seen that they all are wearing identical pendants but much smaller. I can't go into that room and collect the big one that was on the Kroton, I'm too overcome by the fumes."

"Gotcha." Rose puts her gas mask back on and re-enters the room, while the Doctor sinks down against the wall and sits on the floor, trying to shake the nausea and headache that are forming. 

Rose returns seconds later, holding the pendant, and she hands it to the Doctor, sitting down next to her. The Doctor turns it over in her hand, looking at it closely. It is almost as large as her palm, and seems to have circuits all over the back.

"Companions."

"Pardon?" Rose asks, out of her gas mask once again.

"The Krotons I encountered a long time ago were using a race called the Gonds to extract mental energy from. The Gonds thought of the Krotons as godlike-entities, and took it to be a great honour to be promoted to the status of "Companion" by the Krotons. Once someone was promoted, the person was never heard from again. The person would do the Krotons' bidding through mind control, and some would even be killed and have their brains basically melted...but that's brainwashing, at its finest." 

"That's what they've been doing to the Groske! Poor things..." 

The Doctor looks up and smiles weakly at Rose's familiar compassion before continuing.

"These pendants seem to emit a low-level telepathic field. I can feel it just by holding it. See?"

She places it in Rose's hand.

"Yeah, now that you mention it. So what d'we do? Destroy it?"

The Doctor takes it back from Rose and presses her sonic to the surface of the pendant, pressing the button, which fries the circuits inside and causes the object to spark slightly. Then she tosses it onto the ground.

One of the tones of the ambient pinging noise has stopped altogether, and tiny voices all around them throughout the ship begin to whoop and cheer.

Rose grins again, an expression that the Doctor tries to match, but her smile is still very weak due to her remaining queasiness. 

Rose helps her up.

"I need to get you out of here, c'mon." 

They manage to make it down the corridor and into the entrance hall, where Tony is talking to several additional UNIT soldiers with gas masks pulled up on top of their heads. They are each carrying a large tank filled with acid and a sprayer nozzle attached, normally used to get rid of weeds in a garden. 

The Doctor overhears Tony explaining to them to spray it all over the ship and to get out fast, but she doesn't have the energy to offer words of encouragement. Tony stops Rose as he sends the soldiers on their way, and puts his arm around the Doctor on her other side, helping Rose take her out of the ship.

Once they are down the gangplank, down the hill and have reached the overturned combine harvester, Tony helps Rose lower the Doctor to the ground, then gets on his radio.

"Alright I want everyone _OUT_ of there within five minutes. This ship is starting to fall apart. Spray the rest of the acid, grab any Groske nearby, and get out. Over."

At this point, the Doctor is feeling a bit faint despite the fresh air. Rose helps her out of her coat, which she spreads on the ground and lays the Doctor down on, who is now panting and sweating. Rose has a look of deep concern and anger on her face.

"Respiratory bypass or not, you should have been wearing a gas mask! There is absolutely no reason why you shouldn't have."

The Doctor pants, "Didn't want to...use one when a human might need it. I can manage. My body is able to expel poison and noxious fumes. Just...give me a few."

Rose sits on the coat, and puts the Doctor's head in her lap, stroking her hair.

Soon, people and Groske alike begin to pour out of the Dynotrope and run away from the ship. Within thirty seconds of the last person coming out, the entire structure starts to crumble, the remains turning into a darkish goo under the low light of dawn.

…

The following evening, the Doctor finds herself feeling much better, perched on the sofa in the sitting room in Rose's flat as guests mill about, enjoying a gathering dedicated to the couple who'd had the second half of their wedding reception sabotaged by an alien incursion. It's something that's not surprising, given their occupations, but still an inconvenience.

As she sits tangled in her own thoughts, away from the majority of the crowd, she takes inventory of the last twenty-four hours.

Once the dark goo that had previously been the Dynotrope had been deemed safe, it had been re-hidden by another perception filter, to be dealt with on another day. The Groske were then checked over and sent on their way on their ship, and all of the UNIT personnel had come back to headquarters. 

After cleaning themselves up in the on-site showers, they had been offered a place to rest in Rose's flat upstairs, an offer that about half of them had taken, especially among those living further out from the city. Rose had become so used to having people from UNIT recuperating in her flat inside the ample number of bedrooms, on sofas, and on several other stowable camp beds, she hardly noticed them these days.

While the others had gotten themselves cleaned and rested, the Doctor had finally managed to get herself released from the UNIT medical facility after Rose had demanded that she be put on oxygen due to the inhalation of all those toxic fumes. She had initially refused to leave the Doctor's side, and she had been in the middle of explaining how Time Lord physiology differed from that of a human-Time Lord biological metacrisis, when the Doctor had noticed how exhausted and irritable she had become.

To help convince Rose to go upstairs to her flat with the rest of her colleagues, the Doctor had told her they both needed their rest, and she had to agree to come up "as soon as she felt better."

Her condition had rapidly improved, and then she had come upstairs to a large flat full of snoozing people. She'd checked on Rose, who had lent the other side of her huge bed to Lily, and both were completely out cold. Adam was asleep on a camp bed in the sitting room, along with several other people. 

Rather than disturb anyone, the Doctor had found a book on indoor gardening on one of the many bookshelves, and had sat down at the kitchen to kill some time. After thoroughly examining the process of repotting an orchid without really taking anything in, the Doctor had heard stirring, and before long, people had started waking up and getting the place ready for the evening's gathering.

Presently, all the people who had been part of the Kroton incident seemed well-rested and were now finishing the last course of the catered dinner, and soon would be enjoying a new, much smaller wedding cake that had been hastily purchased and assembled that afternoon due to the original artifact having been knocked to the ground by the explosion. 

Finding a bakery that would put together a cake that quickly had been a challenge, but once again, attaching the name "Tyler" to anything usually meant large compensation.

The Doctor stands, stretches, and decides to walk around a bit. She begins examining Rose's belongings a bit more closely, looking over knick knacks and pictures of family and friends over the years. All across the far wall in the large, vaulted sitting room are moments of Rose Tyler's life in this world. 

These windows into her timeline are carefully scattered, encased behind glass to create a landscape of memories---the fabric of her very reality, quantified in smiles and laughter.

There are many of her parents ageing and of Tony as he'd grown up, gone to school, then later as he'd started his own family. 

There are of course many photos of the Doctor's metacrisis counterpart and of their life together. Photos of their wedding. Photos of their own travels to places all over the world. And photos of them on assignment and in the office at UNIT.

There are several photographs of Christmas parties and Halloween parties--- one in particular of the other Doctor with a rubbish bin on his head while he'd been holding a laser gun and a plunger, sporting a hideous yellow jumper with spray-painted gold balls all over it. And Rose had of course been standing next to him wearing a big, lumpy green suit in what appears to be a homemade Slitheen costume.

Animated, holographic photos eventually replace the printed variety, and these are of the other Doctor's later years. Then, there are photos of Rose's travels after he had passed away, because the holographic date on the bottom of each photo marks them to be within the last five years.

The Doctor notices that a frequent companion during those travels is Liliana herself. There are photos of the two of them in Paris, Prague, New York, Kyoto, Mexico, Disneyland, and the Grand Canyon, among many other places.

The Doctor can practically taste the passage of time, and develops a lump in her throat to see these memories attached in such a tangible way, as though she can see the timeline laid out before her and walk on it just as she almost can with her own.

Distracting her from her conscience nagging with increasing amplitude, everyone is finally called to the dining room after the catered dinner has been cleared, and champagne is passed out. 

Rose taps her glass with a fork once everyone has been served.

"First of all, I want to thank you all for a fantastic response to the Kroton incident last night. You all were in top form and I am so blessed to have a team of such amazing people. Secondly, to the real reason we're all here besides the fact that you've all been squatting in my flat yet again---"

Everyone laughs.

"Last night we were all having a wonderful time celebrating Lily and Adam, but of course since we are UNIT, and since we happen to have a certain Time Lord among us again, some aliens just _had_ to show up and steal their thunder. We had no human casualties, however the wedding cake became a victim of some C-4 a few blocks away, plus gravity, and a wobbly table. It is still being scrubbed off the floor inside the reception venue."

More laughter.

"I would like to raise a toast to Liliana and Adam. Besides the Doctor, Lily has been the closest person to me basically since she was born, and I am so proud of the woman she has become. I'm so glad we have Adam as part of the family now. Cheers."

Everyone repeats "Cheers!" and clinks their glasses, and begins passing around the cake. Rose looks happier than the Doctor can remember seeing her since they'd traveled together all those years ago, with her arm around Lily, hugging her close. Adam kisses Rose on the cheek, and Tony comes up from behind them and pulls them all into a hug.

Wrenching her mind from the happy glow, suddenly the Doctor is back at Canary Wharf, watching Rose interact with her parents.

In an instant, the Doctor feels ill, but this time it has nothing to do with toxic fumes. She is quickly unravelling, and finding it difficult to breathe. Her hearts are pounding, and everything around her is losing its colour.

Inevitability, waiting like death.

She manages to find a bathroom and locks herself in. She wrestles out of her coat, dropping it to the floor, and lays down on the cool tile so that she won't lose her dinner. On her stomach, with sweat dripping down her temples, she rests her chin on the floor. She's panting, now, like a frightened animal.

She remembers--- in through the nose, out through the mouth. It works, after several minutes of controlled breathing, during which she feels she could actually fall asleep if she wanted to.

She is calm enough now that she's no longer sweating, and she stands up. She pulls herself over the sink, leaning against it, and she takes a hand towel, wets it, and rinses her face and neck, looking up.

She leans forward, supporting her weight with her hands, and looks at herself closely in the mirror. Her skin is all splotchy and red, and her eyes bloodshot. Suddenly, the feeling returns and she can feel bile in her throat, and white, hot sobs come up her throat, ripping from her chest and she can't stop. 

She heaves, trying to breathe, but it is of no use, stumbling backwards. She tries to muffle her cries with her hands, but it doesn't do much.

She grabs her coat off of the floor, wipes her face with it, puts it back on, and opens the door quietly.

Sneaking down the hallway, she reaches the entrance and steps out, closing the door noiselessly behind her.

She practically runs to get down the stairs and outside as fast as possible, and then hurries down the sidewalk until she is out of the sight of anyone who might be exiting UNIT. The Doctor looks up at the puffs of her own breath, rising into the air until they dissipate completely.

Shoving her hands into her coat pockets, she walks along the banks of the Thames, remembering. The London Eye had been replaced by a much more futuristic-looking wheel, but it's something that could still be used by the Nestene Consciousness, if it existed in this universe. 

It's the site where Rose had saved the Doctor's life for the first of many times, and that incarnation had known then that he needed to be with her--- that they were bound to one another. He'd left after she had refused him, but a friend had convinced him later to go back for her.

Causality at its finest.

That time she had said yes. And that had been just the beginning.

He'd regenerated, then later lost her at the Battle of Canary Wharf. He had become so unstable in his grief that Donna Noble had been the only reason he had refrained from drowning himself in this very river.

It would have been like putting out the flame before it had ever caught. No more blood, anger and revenge. No Time Lord Victorious.

But things had never worked out the way the Doctor intended.

The Doctor puts her head down and watches the ground instead, as if looking at the enormous wheel and the adjacent river is too much for her self-sabotage.

Finally arriving at the TARDIS, she snaps her fingers to open the door, and steps inside, closing it again by leaning her back against it. She stays for a moment, sighing. 

As she approaches the console, she feels the TARDIS' tense reaction at the conflict within her.

"I haven't made up my mind yet, okay? So you can harp at me later," she snaps angrily. 

She feels the machine recoil. 

The TARDIS then sends her a warning, but before she can react, the door suddenly swings open once again with such force, it clatters against the side of the entrance. The Doctor is just about to tell the infernal machine off for not letting her have one evening alone in peace, but then she looks out the door.

Standing there with her hand held up as though she'd just snapped her fingers is Rose herself.

And she is livid.

She strides into the TARDIS, and the machine greets her by flashing several lights in pure elation. 

Rose, however, doesn't notice.

"You were going to leave me again, weren't you?"

The Doctor looks down.

"Rose, please. I wasn't going to leave---"

"You were _entertaining_ the idea." 

The Doctor can see as Rose approaches the console that her face is stained with tears, and contorted in fury.

"You think after all this time, and a telepathic bond that I can't read you? I could read you long before all that, Doctor. I _saw_ the way you were looking at me and my family. I saw the cogs turning. You've done this before, remember? When is it going to be _MY_ choice?"

Rose joins her next to the console and snaps her fingers again, slamming the door shut without taking her eyes off of the Doctor.

All the Doctor can do is look at her, her own eyes full of tears already. After a moment she gathers whatever words she can.

She can only whisper. 

"I... _your family,_ Rose _._ I can't stay here, in this universe. I have to find a way to go back or the TARDIS will die." 

She squeezes her eyes shut, making the tears roll down her face and continues.

"...and you can't throw away everything you have ever known and loved for _me."_

Rose's face turns almost purple, now, and her voice raises in even more anger.

"Do you even _hear yourself_?"

The Doctor's trademark alerts to flee are firing in her synapses like a lightning storm. She puts her hands on her head and rakes her fingers through her hair, turning and walking around to the other side of the console, fiddling with pointless adjustments. 

She stops and looks back up at Rose, speaking quietly, but firmly.

"I'm not a man anymore, Rose. And I don't know if I ever will be again. Are you sure you're even okay with that?"

Rose takes several large steps to cover the distance between them, bringing herself face to face with the Doctor. As close as when they had danced. Rose clutches the Doctor's arms and pulls her almost nose to nose. The Doctor starts melting all over again just in her proximity.

She nearly whispers, this time.

"Don't you get it? Bodies aren't the _point_ , Doctor. You should understand this, you're two thousand years old, and you've had loads of them."

She squeezes the Doctor's arms up and down, then presses her palm to the Doctor's breastbone, just below her throat.

"Anything related to these... _lumps_ of muscle and bone is irrelevant. _YOU_ are not your body, and nor am I mine. Stop being so grounded by what's temporary, and start paying attention to what _ISN'T_."

She presses her forehead to the Doctor, both are trembling, taking shaky breaths. She cups the Doctor's cheeks and continues.

"I shut you out, when we got here, because I made the same mistake. I was caught up in the same stupid illusion. Bodies are temporary, especially for you. Short, tall, old, young, man, woman, doesn't matter. But this. _THIS. MATTERS._ It matters that I'm Rose and you're the Doctor."

The Doctor is breathing heavily against Rose's cheek at this point, trailing her nose across her skin, and trying to hold herself back.

Rose is choking back sobs, now, trying to take in enough air to speak.

"My family is everything to me. But I will lose them someday. I will lose _EVERYBODY_ , just like you do. Neither of us is completely immortal, but we will still outlive everyone else."

Rose pulls away and steps back so that she can look directly into the Doctor's face.

"But _YOU_ do not get to define us, and neither do I. We do that together. You told me just a minute ago that I would be throwing away everything I have ever known and loved. But you are forgetting something. Remember Bad Wolf. Remember everything we saw strapped in those chairs."

Rose steps forward again, close enough that the Doctor can feel her wobbly breaths. She whispers again, the intensity going right through the Doctor's body like a shot.

"Since the beginning of the universe, Doctor, in some way, _you_ _ARE_ everything I have ever known and loved." 

The Doctor can't hold back anymore, and she puts her hand on the side of Rose's face, cradling it, and sinks the other one into her hair, bringing her mouth to hers with almost too much force.

Both intake air sharply through their nose, and their bodies stiffen in unison. Rose wraps her arms around her, and the Doctor does the same--- can't get her close enough. She presses her lithe body against Rose's, and at first each slow, feverish kiss disconnects and comes back together with a potency that has each of them shivering just from the contact.

The Doctor practically has to gasp for air, and her hands drag in slow motion up and down Rose's body, and Rose's mouth opens slightly. The Doctor strokes the tip of her tongue across Rose's bottom lip, inviting her to deepen the kiss. 

Rose gently draws the Doctor's bottom lip into her mouth, and the Doctor groans.

They each have been shuddering as waves of unmitigated intoxication overtake them, when they become cognisant that they've connected telepathically as well, in impulsive, automatic fashion. Meshing together, the kiss becomes more frenzied as the Doctor takes the lead and fuses herself spiritually to Rose. 

She hears Rose emitting tiny cries of sheer bliss as they rediscover one another while not actually forced to do so by hostile forces. Reconnecting, while simultaneously merging for the first time, their minds dance and meld together as one.

But this is not the Doctor's main focus as of right now. She wants to memorize and chronicle the _heat_ of Rose's body, every curve, every inch. Touch every plane of her skin and taste every freckle. Rose sinks her hands back into the Doctor's hair, lightly scratching her scalp with her nails, and the Doctor is done for.

The Doctor backs Rose up against the console to prevent them both from falling over, but Rose takes this as an invitation to slide up onto it, careful not to activate any buttons with her rear, and she wraps her legs around the Doctor, pinning her to herself.

The Doctor cradles the side of her face, pulling her mouth ever closer, with deep, searing kisses, and wraps the other arm around Rose's back.

The Doctor isn't sure at this point where she ends and Rose begins, and before she knows she's doing it, she allows her entire telepathic presence to pour into Rose's. Her soul, her entire being, out through her very skin. 

Rose knows how to do the same as though it is her native language, and the Doctor cries out at the ensuing rush. It overflows through her lips and her tongue, and seeps into the Doctor's scalp through Rose's fingers.

Neither are able to accomplish this in small doses, however, though neither really has to. They each are crying, now, as tears roll down their cheeks. As though each has been starved for eons.

The Doctor pulls and grasps at Rose's back, and the velvet drag of their mouths turns desperate, and the Doctor is officially done with being shy. She has waited for this for a thousand years and would wait a thousand more. She pours every ounce of her need out through every touch, and every tear that is dripping down her face.

She places her hands down on Rose's hips, searching for the hem of her shirt. Her hands meet the soft skin of Rose's back, and Rose shivers in catharsis, and pulls away slightly to grant the Doctor access.

Desire shoots through the Doctor's body so quickly that she trembles all over again, caressing Rose's sides and her back, and finally finding the soft edge of her bra, and every so gently, ghosts her fingers over Rose's breasts through the fabric. Rose's breaths start coming in and out in gasps, and the Doctor attaches her mouth to Rose's throat, as her own breath glances off of Rose's skin.

Rose takes the hint, pulling back slightly, and removing her shirt. The Doctor pulls her back in, trying again to kiss her, but Rose denies her of it, holding her off, pressing her open mouth against the Doctor's, but not close enough to kiss her. She holds the Doctor like that, completely still, and pushes her away ever so slightly.

She reaches behind her, unclasping her bra, and shrugging out of it, tossing it to the side. She takes the Doctor's hands, still holding her back from kissing her.

She places the Doctor's hands on her breasts, and as the Doctor molds her fingers to Rose's soft shape, she keeps her hands on top, clutching them to her as the Doctor begins to knead, and brush her fingers over her nipples. Both intake air sharply at each caress.

Finally, Rose allows for the Doctor to kiss her again, as she is frantic for her. The Doctor places one of her hands on Rose's back, pulling her in with bruising desperation, while she keeps the other hand on one of Rose's breasts, continuing her exploration. 

Her kisses finally trail down Rose's throat, over her collarbone, nipping her skin enough to cause red marks, and her mouth replaces where her hands had been. The Doctor allows her eyes to look over Rose's bare form, but then brings her thumbs up to brush over her nipples, and scatters soft kisses across her supple form. 

The Doctor runs the tip of her tongue up between Rose's breasts as she continues to knead, squeezing and cupping. She brings her lips to one, taking Rose's nipple into her mouth.

Rose arches her back and cries out, which goes directly to the Doctor's lower belly. She takes the other nipple into her mouth, drawing the skin in, stroking and tracing it with her tongue.

Rose starts grinding her hips against the Doctor, surrendering and melting into the feel of the her mouth.

She pushes the Doctor back, sliding down off the console, and stands on the floor, pulling herself flush with her once again, kissing her hard.

The Doctor places her hands on Rose's hips once more, pushing her fingertips down below the waistband of her trousers so that she is grazing the top of her bum, and Rose takes the hint, unbuttoning, but stops suddenly.

"Excuse me, but if I'm going to be disrobing it's only proper that you do the same."

The Doctor grins, and Rose helps her out of her coat, suspenders, and helps her lift her striped shirt and undershirt over her head. 

The Doctor is left in her stretchy black sports bra, smiling nervously.

Rose isn't sure if she's ever seen anything so beautiful. She then looks down.

"Doctor, I've...never done this with a woman before. So it might be a bit of a learning curve even though I know we have the same parts."

"Well we're kind of even because I've never done this _AS_ a woman before."

They both giggle.

Rose adds, "Let's just assume that what feels good for ourselves will probably feel good for the other."

The Doctor whispers, "Are you _deducting_?"

Rose laughs out loud, now. "Permission to follow up, sarge?" 

The Doctor's voice goes from playful to serious in an instant. " _Always_ , Rose Tyler." 

The Doctor kisses her again with bruising intensity, and pulls her own bra over her head.

Rose looks like she's going to pass out. She brings herself close, grazing her lips over the Doctor's throat and neck, and tentatively reaches out, cupping the Doctor's breasts in her hands, squeezing them lightly. The Doctor arches into her touch, allowing her eyes to close.

"Can we...find your bedroom---" Rose gasps, into the Doctor's ear.

"Not yet, don't know where it is right now--- don't have time to look for it," she whispers back.

She finishes unbuttoning Rose's trousers for her, pulling down the zip, then placing her hands back under the waistband above her bottom, and she pushes down, until Rose's trousers and her knickers both fall to the floor. 

Rose steps out of them, kicking them to the side, and the Doctor caresses her bum, kissing her again. The heady scent of Rose's arousal hits her nostrils, and the ache between her own legs throbs even stronger.

She pushes Rose back against the console again, and steps back, taking in her beauty. It is as if she never stopped glowing from earlier, as though she is still alight with artron energy.

The Doctor places her hand flat on Rose's belly, stepping slightly to the side to create a better angle, caressing and grasping at her skin as her hand travels downwards in circular motions.

Rose holds herself upright against the console, and the Doctor's fingers finally brush against the soft hairs at the apex of Rose's thighs.

Rose's breathing becomes even heavier, and she grips the console even harder, white-knuckled, as the Doctor's long fingers trail through her dusky curls, purposely taking their time. Her fingers push down, thoroughly exploring the area, but not quite where Rose wants them.

Rose can't stand it anymore, and she places one hand over the Doctor's, guiding them into her slick folds. The Doctor gasps at the contact and how her fingers easily slide across Rose's skin. Rose's hand pushes her fingertips across her, and she grinds her hips into the Doctor's hand for increased contact.

The Doctor's fingers find Rose's centre, encircling it lightly, then grazing to the sides, and Rose needs to grasp the console with both hands again for fear of collapsing. The Doctor's fingers caress her, drawing out her moisture, and then she finally sinks one finger inside. 

Rose instinctively widens her knees, crying out.

The Doctor adds another finger, and the way that Rose's flesh grips them leaves her mouth dry.

Rose's tiny cries lead to louder sighs, and she begins grinding her hips harder, so that the Doctor's fingers slide in and out, and she brings her face close to the Doctor's once again, kissing her deeply.

Rose moves her hips in time with the Doctor's fingers curling inside her, and with each movement, Rose lets out a little whimper.

Then, the Doctor finds her centre with her thumb, encircling it.

Rose is done for.

The Doctor's ragged kisses cease as she begins to feel the staccato flutter of Rose's muscles, and each one becomes closer together.

The Doctor continues her movements with her hand, working her thumb.

"Look at me, Rose," the Doctor whispers, almost inaudibly.

Rose tries to lock her gaze on hers, and she stops breathing entirely, her eyes becoming glassy.

Her hip movements become erratic, and she can no longer keep her eyes open so she leans her head against the Doctor's forehead, then a moment later throws it back, crying out in release as the Doctor's hand continues to move, and the Doctor lunges forward instinctively, catching Rose's head in her other hand, cradling it so that it won't bump against anything on the console as her mouth latches onto Rose's throat.

She rides out each spasm, each clench of her inner walls on the Doctor's fingers until Rose stills, collapsing against her.

Both panting, the Doctor extracts her hand after a few moments, and pulls a handkerchief out of her trouser pocket to wipe her hand clean.

Rose just lays her head on her shoulder, as a happy puddle of goo. Soft nuzzling of their faces lead to eventual slow kisses once each has caught her breath.

The Doctor looks up and her eyes catch the monitor and she gasps.

"What? We've moved!" 

She extricates herself from Rose, and checks the settings.

"And jumped forward in time, by a few hours. What? When? How, even?" 

All of a sudden, the TARDIS doors fly open, and both women instinctively cover themselves up.

But they find that they have only gone a short distance--- a distance that even a sick TARDIS could handle with ease, apparently.

The TARDIS is now sitting in Rose's bedroom, inside her flat.

They look at each other, and they grin. The Doctor scoops Rose up, and carries her out.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I love comments, they are pure dopamine. Thank you so much for reading.  
> xoxo


	10. Sabaism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know you've been waiting for this one (and so have these two), so I am pleased to have it posted. NSFW warning as this chapter is very smutty!
> 
> Playlist Tracks:  
> "Honey Honey" ~Feist  
> "Lovesong" ~Adele

_"The wound is where the light enters you."_

_~Rumi_

  
  
  


Time and space are mere farcical constructs.

There are no stars, no planets. No moons, and no sun. No gravity, and no turn of the Earth. No vast oceans, no Void, and no other life. No warm spring rain, no touch of summer sun. No frozen morning, and no swirling autumn leaves.

There is no ego. 

It is the _observer_ alone that turns possibility into reality...that makes things _exist_.

There is nothing.

Except here, in this room.

To the two occupants here, nothing exists but the other.

For the past six years, Rose has considered herself asleep, merely surviving in the local domain only. 

The physical.

She had been waiting for something to happen---anything, really. Waiting for death, perhaps, if that ever came. Waiting for her part-human Doctor to pull her across during one of her panic-induced hallucinations.

A broken telepathic connection, she thought, would mean her literal death. And it had, if she was honest with herself. The emptiness in her mind had been nothing short of a literal vacuum. 

A gaping chasm.

There had been no sound, no light, and no colour. All of it had been siphoned from her soul in those last moments of _his_ life, leaving a ravine.

The unendurable made welcome.

And for someone who had lived the first twenty or so years of her life not being the least bit telepathic, the literal _cracking open_ of her mind that day it had been flooded with artron energy from the heart of the TARDIS all those years ago? 

It had been both a blessing and a curse.

For the Doctor, this was also true, not having connected with a telepathic being in literal _millenia_.

Missing Rose had felt much the same--- the Doctor had been partially on automatic for at least a thousand years since she'd walked away and left Rose on that beach with her duplicate.

And never sharing a telepathic bond quite like _this_ before, overwhelming in its intensity and all-consuming in every sense, she remembers _exactly_ why she hadn't allowed it to happen back then. 

Because the eventual loss would have driven her to insanity.

But today, for both of them, the light has returned.

_And it's like drinking starlight._

…

Rose and the Doctor sit entangled in one another atop Rose's bed. Completely bare, and legs wound around the other, they discover one another for the first time, all while simultaneously finding each other again.

For the Doctor in particular, this is new. And with a thousand years of _want_ , she is in disbelief of what she'd been missing.

Slow, hypnotic kisses, sighs, and caresses, they drown in one another. Skin soaks into skin, blurring the lines between the unreal and the real, and who begins where. 

Their telepathic connection hums with energy, and awakens every sense. They can see it in tangible colours and taste the undertones of it, penetrating every cell of their bodies. It tastes like the sky, and stardust. 

They envelop and pulse around each other. 

They say nothing verbally---this would be almost absurd in its comparison at this point.

Rose instinctively takes control and projects pure light into the Doctor's head, and the Doctor cries out in euphoria at the strength of it. 

Back in the physical, Rose takes the Doctor's hand, smoothing it with her fingers, kissing the inside of her wrist, then the palm of her hand, and each fingertip in turn, letting each one linger. She does the same thing to the other hand, and when she reaches her thumb, the Doctor traces Rose's bottom lip with it. 

Rose then begins to show off, projecting images into the Doctor's head. The blues, greens, and purples of the Aurora Borealis, dancing in the sky as if choreographed. The exquisite beauty of polar ice caps, sun glinting off of the snow, with turquoise glacial lakes. 

She shows her the aquas and emeralds of a coral reef, alight with life. Rainforests and waterfalls with rainbows arching off of them as the sun blazes through the sky. Cherry blossoms and fields of lavender. A garden full of pink and yellow roses.

The reds, pinks, and oranges of a sunset on fire, colour dripping down into the sea below, as waves roll onto the sand on shore.

The Doctor then surprises her, adding to it. She opens up the sky that is currently painted in their heads, and she extinguishes the light. Then, to the inky blackness, she adds the stars--- dappling each one as though she's touched them into existence with her fingertips.

The Milky Way Galaxy, curving across the sky, and turning as though millions of years are passing in a single moment. Meteors streak past. Nebulas appear, and stars are being born out of colourful clouds, and then dying in an instant.

Rose and the Doctor sit like this, painting together for what seems like hours, touching, kissing, and pressing their foreheads together. Gasps and viscous, half-drunk sighs and grasping at skin, as real tears flow like acrylic across the canvas that they share.

Clasping their hands together, running their fingers between the other's, touching their fingertips and lining up their palms. The lightest touch buzzes with electricity.

The Doctor then goes a bit further, showing her the ice from Woman Wept. A far-off galaxy with spiralling arms, collapsing into a single entity, then expanding again. The planet of the Ood, their song reverberating over the icy mountains. New Earth, the scent of apple grass hanging in the air.

The Rings of Akhaten, and the Song of Years bringing tears to her eyes. The raging storms on Jupiter, the ice caps on Mars.

Then, finally. 

_Gallifrey._

It's illuminated by two suns, making the glass citadel glow with light. Rose can see the mountains shining in the distance, and two moons hanging in an orange sky. Red grass-covered fields lead to lush forests, dotted by lakes and rivers. The city of Arcadia on the horizon, at dusk.

Tears flow freely from Rose's eyes, now, and she pulls away to see that she's not the only one.

Their touches become bolder once again, as they reconnect a bit more with the physical world.

Rose scatters kisses across the Doctor's cheeks, tasting her tears, and she travels from her nose and back to her ear as the Doctor gives welcome attention to Rose's breasts. 

Rose has to stop every few seconds as a new sensation nearly sends her over the edge again, but she brushes yellow strands away from the Doctor's ear and touches her earring, kissing it gently.

She takes the very tip of her earlobe into her mouth. The Doctor's movements still for a moment, this time. But only just, as her hands continue moving. 

Rose arches her back and leans backwards on her palms, trembling, and the Doctor lets both breasts fill her hands, massaging, squeezing gently at first, and then more boldly. 

Then, she replaces her hands with her lips.

Drawing Rose's nipple into her mouth, tracing it, teasing with her tongue, it becomes peaked. Moving across to the other, running her tongue up the hollow in between, the Doctor does the same thing to the second. Tender nips and strokes, and Rose is grinding her hips again.

While Rose isn't complaining at all about the attention being mostly focused on her thus far, she thinks that the Doctor has waited long enough to experience all of this as well.

She pushes the Doctor back gently, untangling herself from her, and she crawls up to the head of the bed, pulling the covers down. She motions for the Doctor to lay with her head on the pillow, on her back. 

She then lays her bare body on top of the Doctor's, and continues kissing her. They blend and fuse together, the line between bodies becoming more in flux as the moments pass. 

The Doctor's skin is still cooler than Rose's, but it's now significantly warmer than normal---to the point where it seems almost feverish, though the cause is understandable.

Hot breath mingles, and Rose kisses down from the corner of the Doctor's mouth to her ear again, then down her neck, and to her collarbone, tasting.

Kissing leads to sucking on skin, pulling and tugging, teeth gently grazing, and the Doctor's breaths become erratic. 

Rose shifts her body downward, scattering kisses across the Doctor's breast, while keeping her hand on the other, and she takes her nipple into the wet heat of her mouth, making it pebble hard as the Doctor intakes air sharply.

Now it is the Doctor whose back is arching, her insides liquifying, and she puts her hands into Rose's hair, its silklike texture gliding through her fingers.

Rose allows her breath to linger over the Doctor's skin moving over to the other breast, making the surface pucker into gooseflesh, as she lets feather-light touches of her hands and lips slowly unravel the Doctor's sense of what is real and what isn't.

Rose explores the sanctum of the Doctor's body as the Doctor pulls and grasps at her back, Rose's muscles shifting beneath her hands. Bolts of lightning seem to erupt from Rose's touches, and thickening branches of heat coil all the stronger within the Doctor's belly, settling low until it is a steady ache.

Rose moves herself off of the Doctor's body and to the side, and the Doctor nearly whimpers at the loss, but not for long as Rose lays her hand on the Doctor's belly, kissing her deeply, and pushing her hand downwards, spanning her skin.

Rose doesn't hesitate in the way she touches her, and she quickly finds the exact degree of the Doctor's arousal, slick and pliant just as the Doctor is finally the one to let out a sharp cry, allowing her legs to fall slack and for Rose's hand to work her. 

Rose slides her fingers through her heat, finally concentrating on her oversensitive centre, allowing her fingertips to linger over it, circling slowly. Maddeningly. Brushing each digit over, then dipping down to her entrance.

Languid strokes of Rose's tongue in the Doctor's mouth allow her to absorb each strangled cry, and swallow each gasp as she continues to kiss her and drag her fingers across her skin.

Finally, the Doctor's hips begin to lift from the bed, seeking _more, needing more,_ but Rose withdraws her hand, immediately resuming her trek downwards with her lips, and the Doctor is thanking all the gods she'd ever made angry for having mercy on her, in that Rose is already starting below her navel.

She's allowing her breath to linger over the Doctor's belly, kissing her way downwards, and pushing the Doctor's legs further apart.

She then settles rather quickly between the Doctor's legs, starting by kissing the inside of her thighs, drawing in skin hard enough to leave marks, making the Doctor's hips once again seek more contact.

Slow fire curls outwards as the Doctor's anticipation becomes nearly unbearable, and finally, Rose touches her tongue to where the Doctor wants her the most---and the Doctor is vocalising before she even knows the noise is coming from her.

Rose touches her just slightly at first, in painful slow-motion. The tip of her tongue begins to explore, curling more boldly, but just as gentle.

The Doctor sends her pleasure over the telepathic connection, which adds to Rose's own rebuilding arousal, as she fuels it with more pressure with her tongue. They can each _feel_ the other's aching need, now.

The Doctor looks down, and all she can see is Rose. She props her head up on a second pillow, and then puts her hands back into Rose's hair, making eye contact with her. A golden goddess, completely bare and slick with sweat, hypnotic and celestial in her very existence. It is easily the most erotic thing she has ever seen in her life.

Rose traces her lips across the Doctor's skin, ghosting, before bringing her hand up to touch. Allowing her fingers to linger over, sliding her digits, letting the Doctor feel the contours of her fingertips before dipping the first two inside, pushing them within her heat, impossibly slowly. 

Becoming all the more _one_ with her body.

The Doctor really does cry out now, but the sound is nearly foreign to her ears since she never thought anyone would ever make her feel like this. The ache in her womb reaches a level she's never felt, albeit _differently_ in this body. 

It still has no parallel.

Rose begins to slide her fingers in and out, feeling the Doctor's muscles constrict on her fingers, and she replaces her mouth, working her with her tongue in slow, drawn out passes.

She tries to connect to the Doctor even further telepathically, but she is so far gone that it's not as much an alertness as it is a conscious presence.

Rose reaches up with her left hand, grasping for the Doctor's hand, and when she finds it she laces their fingers together, caressing her hand with her thumb as she translates her love through her bold touches, unravelling Time and Space with her lips and her tongue.

Rose then brings her lips down, drawing the Doctor's flesh into her mouth, sucking lightly, and the Doctor is done for.

Her hips lift off of the bed, and she thrusts involuntarily, grinding into Rose's mouth.

Rose adds her tongue again, and is rewarded with bolder cries, and then the Doctor regains control of the telepathic connection, taking it upon herself to allow her pleasure to overtake their bond to the point where it sizzles with heat.

The tight coil in the Doctor's belly winds faster, as Rose continues to move.

The Doctor's hips begin moving almost erratically, so Rose removes her fingers and reaches up and over the Doctor's body, putting both her hands on her breasts, and begins massaging and gently squeezing.

This allows her to take more of the Doctor's skin into her mouth, applying more pressure with her tongue, until all the Doctor can feel is sensation.

The coil snaps, the Doctor grinds her hips as hard as Rose's arms will allow her, as the tendrils of pleasure overtake her, pulling her under. The tsunami breaks, and she arches her back, crying out in a wailing staccato. 

Colours explode inside both of their brains as the Doctor's orgasm pulses repeatedly, as she puts her hands back on Rose's head and continues to thrust her hips uncontrollably upward. 

Finally, her movements slow, and her body goes limp. Rose crawls up a tiny bit, laying her head on the Doctor's belly as they attempt to come back to themselves.

Still intermingling on the telepathic plane, they send each other waves of love and praise.

Rose finally makes her way up, laying her head on the pillow, wrapping herself completely around the Doctor, to which the Doctor responds by doing the same. Kissing and whispering soft "I love yous," both covered with the sheen of sweat.

Five years could pass like this. Drinking slow kisses to the thrumming of three separate heartbeats, slowly returning to normal.

But after several minutes, Rose sits up.

"C'mon, " she says, "I have an idea." And she pulls the Doctor up slowly so that she doesn't get too much of a head rush. The Doctor giggles at how her head is swimming, and Rose smiles, leading her into the bathroom, into the large shower, and she opens the glass door. 

She takes the Doctor by the waist, and sits her on the elevated stone seat ledge inside, and she turns the water on, blocking it with her body so that she receives the initial blast of cold water. Fortunately, it is hot within seconds.

Rose allows the water to cascade over her body, then moving so that the stream is hitting both of them. Rose lets the water wet her hair and face, and then helps the Doctor wet hers. The Doctor wraps her arms around Rose's waist, pressing the side of her face to her stomach. Rose strokes her hair, then reaching over for some shampoo, working it into the Doctor's scalp. The Doctor lets her head fall back, closing her eyes and surrendering to Rose's touch. 

When she's finished, she rinses the Doctor's hair, but then the Doctor gets a burst of energy and stands, reaching for the shampoo to help Rose clean her own hair.

As the Doctor washes her hair, Rose lathers soap all over her body. They help cleanse each other thoroughly.

This dance...these touches are not sexual in nature, but about intimacy and connection.

When they're finished giving each other lots of pampering and attention, they spend a long time just standing under the hot water, kissing the droplets from the other's skin, enjoying each other's telepathic presence, and allowing emotions to overcome them all over again.

Through the moisture that has gathered in the Doctor's eyes both from the shower and from the swelling of her hearts, Rose is a stained blur of light in high contrast, refracting into her periphery. She is unable to differentiate between now and when Rose had glowed back on the ship.

She sinks her hands back into Rose's hair, framing her head, and kisses her again, sliding her tongue across the seam of her mouth. Rose responds immediately, kissing her back with a fervency that has them each intaking air sharply through their noses. The tingles start all over again, and neither wants to be forced to take the next breath.

Then, the Doctor does something Rose does not expect. 

She whirls her around, facing the shower door, so that Rose has to reach up and press her hands against the glass, her hands dragging slightly and causing smears of handprints in the condensation.

The Doctor wraps her arms around her from behind, and puts her mouth on Rose's neck, working her way up behind her ear, and places her hands on her waist. Her hands quickly move upwards, covering over Rose's breasts. Squeezing and cupping, letting her fingertips play over her nipples, then lifting, massaging, Rose's blood heads straight for her lower belly again.

The Doctor isn't sure whether Rose has asked for her touch aloud or through the telepathic connection, but she doesn't consider it long enough to worry about it. 

She then allows one hand to drop, splaying over Rose's stomach, and down to the apex of her thighs. 

Rose's fingers automatically attempt to grip the glass so that she can get a stronghold of something, but then she remembers the long handlebar on the door. She grips it, white-knuckled, and widens her legs, leaning her weight back on the Doctor.

Even after soap and water has washed her, she is already slick again, and the Doctor's fingers move across her skin with ease, playing over the bud of nerves one after another, and back again as her other hand continues to work her breast. 

The swelling within her womb spreads outward, turning into a steady throb, a longing, a flexing and expanding, and her entire world shrinks down to the Doctor's long fingers brushing over her core.

She finds that she is sturdy enough on her feet now to reach one hand up, placing it on the Doctor's head, pulling her face as tightly to her neck as possible. The Doctor's breaths in her ear stoke the fire further, and then Rose puts her hand back on the bar, then moves her other hand over top the Doctor's between her legs, using the leverage to grind harder into her hand.

Rose is already weak when the Doctor pulls away and crouches down, kneeling on the stone tile floor of the shower, and turns Rose facing her once again. She lifts one of Rose's legs and places her foot up on the ledge. Rose realizes where this is going, so she grabs the handlebar on the door from the side, but even then she's unsure of her ability to stay upright.

Starting at her ankle, the Doctor kisses water droplets from Rose's skin, her tongue peeking out to taste, then up to her knee, then even more slowly to her inner thigh.

Rose's breath quickens as the Doctor stops to draw skin into her mouth, gently towards where Rose is aching for her more than she ever has.

The Doctor kindly spares her, wrapping her arm underneath Rose's knee to pull her close, bringing her mouth to her, and allowing her breath to ghost over her skin momentarily.

Then, she gives her what she wants. 

The Doctor moves her tongue in earnest, drawing Rose's flesh into her mouth, and Rose puts her other hand on the Doctor's head in order to ground herself. Rose cries out in a low moan and her eyes squeeze shut.

The Doctor adds her hand, pushing one finger inside, then adding a second, and she tastes a rush of lubrication.

Rose looks down, now, but this makes her even worse off, and she's keening, and all she can feel is what the Doctor is doing with her mouth--- drawing out her pleasure, causing it to fill outwards until her head is swimming.

The Doctor notices that Rose is starting to lose balance, so she pulls away, sitting her down on the stone seat ledge, leaning her back against the wall, and moving Rose's legs as far apart as she can, then replaces her fingers, turning her wrist to face the ceiling.

Stroking in and out, she watches her fingers disappear within Rose's body, her inner walls grip the Doctor's fingers tightly, while Rose herself grips the ledge as best as she can with her hands.

Each time the Doctor's fingers sink inside her, the pressure in her womb builds, to the point that her toes are curling. Each movement causes tiny cries to escape her throat.

Then, the Doctor puts her mouth back, and begins working Rose again with her tongue.

Rose's eyes flutter open, now, despite the spray from the water hitting their bodies, and she makes eye contact with the Doctor.

The Doctor reaches her other hand up and cradles Rose's face, tracing her lips with her thumb.

Rose places her feet on the ledge, and her hips begin to pick up and thrust involuntarily, and she then starts running her hands through the Doctor's wet hair. 

She then brings one hand down, pulling up on her skin, so that she is more easily able to see the Doctor's mouth work her, at the same time creating better access.

It's all feeling, and sensation, sliding, and pulling. The Doctor--- this ancient being Rose has been in love with for ages untold, pouring her love out for Rose into gentle strokes of her fingers and the soft reverence of her tongue.

Rose decides that she needs something altogether different this time, and she stops her, putting her feet down on the floor.

"I want to go back to bed. Want us both to..."

She hurries out so fast, that the Doctor doesn't hear the last bit, as Rose shuts off the water and opens the shower door, grabbing two fluffy towels, and handing one to the Doctor. They dry themselves in seconds--- to the point where they won't get water all over the floor, but far from being dry.

They're back in bed in the blink of an eye, and the Doctor tries to resume what she had been doing in the shower, but Rose places her hand on her face, bringing her up to lay with her on the pillow. Rose wraps her arms around the Doctor's neck, and it escalates into frenzied passion immediately. 

Rose pulls away, looking the Doctor in the eye, and she takes the Doctor's free arm, placing her hand between her legs.

Then Rose touches the Doctor in the same way, causing the Doctor to mirror her, and lift her leg and prop it so that her knee is pointing towards the ceiling. She tightens the arm that is wrapped around the Doctor's neck and head, pulling her closer. The Doctor tucks her other arm in and places her hand on Rose's cheek.

Connected telepathically, like this, neither will last long. 

They allow their digits to slide over the other's skin, both slick and rocking into each other, thrusting into the pressure of the other's fingers. Everything is moving and skin and sensations, blood rushing, thundering through their ears.

Neither is making an effort to muffle her cries, this time. Not when they're feeling like this. Not when they're quivering, hips rolling into each other, moving in perfect synch.

Each touch mirrors the other's, each slide of fingers into the other's heat, each graze of the other's centre.

Touches become bolder, faster. 

Rose is so far gone already, that she is right on the edge and yet still isn't spilling over, as she's making every effort to wait for the Doctor. The swelling in her womb turns into a clenching, billowing pin pricks under the entire expanse of her skin, and electrical current.

She uses the connection to bring the Doctor to the same point.

It doesn't take long. Both open their eyes again, looking at the other's face contorted in pleasure, cheeks red and gasping.

They're both crying out. 

Through their link, Rose welcomes the Doctor _home._

The tears are flowing again as their bodies flex against each other.

They're inside each other and around each other, mind, body, and soul. They've been holding their breath, running out of air, finally allowed to inhale. It envelops and pulses through each of their cores and through their entire bodies, and across their telepathic bond.

They're climbing high, colours bursting inside their minds, together this time. As one.

As it should be.

_"Rose Tyler...I love you."_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for continuing to read. This story has meant so much to me this year. And subscribing to this story, along with your comments and kind words have all made my heart soar each time I've seen another one. Your comments keep me writing, and they are actual love letters.
> 
> xoxoxox


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